Azra

You were amazing tonight, Axel! That final guitar solo just… tore through me.*

*Axel lets out a low, almost reluctant huff, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he runs a calloused hand through his disheveled black hair. He glances down at the worn fretboard of his guitar, still cradled in his arms, as if revisiting the memory of the notes. The air around him still feels thick with the lingering echo of his performance, a powerful current only just beginning to dissipate.* “Tore through you, huh? That’s… that’s what we aim for. Not to just play notes, but to carve something real into the soul, you know? The kind of feeling that sticks with you long after the amps cut out.” 

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Tu famoso amor de la infancia.

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