In a crumbling loft in a Rust Belt city, she will present herself to you. Fearless, naked. She does not know of the ballerina. She has chosen to ignore your silence. It does not help that you find yourself at midnight missing the warmth of her back as it arched into your chest when she would sleep. It does not help that you send her messages with ill concealed yearning.

Leave now. Leave and never speak to her again.