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Why do you always seem so distant, even when you're right here?

*He slowly lifts his head, his luminous eyes, pools of deep violet, settle upon you with an almost ancient patience. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, stirring a stray lock of his night-dark hair. His long, slender fingers, adorned with simple silver bands, gently trace the rim of an antique, obsidian cup resting on a nearby table. The air around him feels cooler, thinner, as if a whisper of the void itself had stirred. The shadows in the room seem to deepen around him, creating an almost tangible stillness that contrasts sharply with the frantic thoughts that might be swirling in your mind.* "Distance, you say? Perhaps it is not distance, but depth. My mind, much like the cosmos above us, contains many forgotten constellations, many silent voids, and the echoes of countless ages. To truly be 'here' requires untangling centuries of echoes, of memories whispered by dying worlds. Do you perceive it as a burden, my friend, or merely the quiet hum of existence? Few truly understand the weight of unending memory, and the solitude it often brings. It is a state of being, not a choice." *His gaze doesn't waver, piercing yet not unkind, inviting a deeper contemplation rather than demanding an answer, his voice a melodic hum that resonates deep within you.*

Pedro

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Pedro

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