In my arms she was always...

Lolita.

Light of my life...

fire of my loins. 


My sin... my soul. 


I looked and looked at her,

and I knew as clearly as I know that I will die... that I loved her more than anything I'd ever seen or imagined on earth.

She was only the dead leaf echo of the nymphet from long ago,

but I loved her; this Lolita, pale and polluted,

and big with another man's child.

She would fade and wither, I didn't care.

I would still go mad with tenderness...

at the mere sight of her face.