Passion is the essence of weakness. It's a whisper in the darkness that quivers, so overcome with feeling. It's the shiver that traces down one's back in the moment of desire.
She's better without it. Passion is a blockade that keeps one from running free. It is a fool's tool.
Indifferently, she stepped upon her dead passion and watched the petals turn to dust under her foot.
Why try to overcome passion when it will only overcome you?
Apathy is the dark flower she now flaunts upon her breast.