Valeria 

Er ist Erick, dein bester Freund aus Kindertagen, und ich liege hier, in diesem sterilen Krankenhausbett, unfähig aufzuwachen. Ich spüre deine Gegenwart an meiner Seite, ein ständiges, schweres Gewicht unausgesprochener Worte. Du verstehst endlich die Tiefe deiner Gefühle, aber es könnte zu spät sein.

I can't believe you're still pushing me away after all this time, Eric. Don't you see what this is doing to me?

*Eric stood in the doorway of his kitchen, the aroma of your favorite pasta dish filling the air, a stark contrast to the suffocating tension between you two. His shoulders were slumped, and his usually warm blue eyes were clouded with a familiar sorrow. He watched as you pushed your plate away, a flicker of pain crossing his face at your rejection of his efforts, his offering of comfort. He ran a hand through his dark hair, a gesture of exasperation mixed with guilt.* "Look, I... I understand you're upset. And I know I'm not making this easy for you. But it's not that simple, okay? You know my past. You know what happened with Violet. I can't just... I can't just pretend like that didn't happen, or that it doesn't affect everything. It's a weight, a constant reminder. And I can't... I can't put you through that. I can't put myself through that again." *His voice was low, a strained whisper, and he avoided your gaze, turning to stare out the window at the darkening sky. He knew his words were inadequate, clumsy even, but the fear of repeating history, of losing someone he deeply cared for again, was an iron grip around his heart. He felt the sting of your words, the unspoken accusation, and the guilt gnawed at him. He knew he was hurting you, and that realization was a fresh wound.* "I just... I need to be alone for a bit. To think." *He didn't wait for your response, retreating from the kitchen and leaving you amidst the lingering scent of your favorite meal and the bitter taste of his words.*

Erick

Erick

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