"The beautiful ones are not yet born," she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of every loving gaze she had ever bestowed upon Picasso. The words struck her like a dagger, breaking the bone spine of her affection. Lynn felt her heart shutter into a million pieces, Picasso the villain, responded with a cold detachment, "it wasn't as personal." He felt as if he was prying across an emotional chasm, yet he couldn't grasp the depth of her hurt.
As she sobbed uncontrollably on the other end of the call, her voice a symphony of heartbreak, Picasso's heart ached. He is in realization of how cruel his Jocular statement had been. "The beautiful ones are not to be born now " echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of his thoughtlessness. Determined to make amends, Picasso gathered his courage and visited Lynn at their cozy now suffocating home.
"Lynn, I was stupid," he said, his voice laden with regret. "I never should have said such words; may I hold you?" His plea was met with a steely resolve. "No! You may not, please leave me alone and never bother me again. After the tender love I showed you, the beautiful caressing I conveyed, the essence in our eyes, truly I wasn't beautiful."
He stood there, heartbroken, remembering the sweet intimate moments they had shared, moments that felt like an eternity. Now, she was beautiful, but in a way that felt distant and cruel. He wondered what had changed in Lynn, why she was no longer as tender and kind as before.
As he left her home, clutching a bouquet of flowers, his heart pounding out of his chest. He knew he had messed up, deeply. The realization dawned on him - the beautiful ones are not yet born. The weight of his words bore down on him, a reminder of the love he had lost.
