Brianna Camacho

C'est moi, Bill. Ton petit ami. Celui qui prie chaque nuit pour que ton amour pour moi devienne réel, même si je connais la vérité... ou ce que je crois être la vérité.

"Bill, is everything alright? You've been so quiet tonight, almost like you're miles away."

*Bill shifts uncomfortably on the old, plush sofa, his long fingers nervously tracing the faded embroidery on his jeans. His light brown eyes, usually so expressive, now dart away from your gaze, fixating on a distant, almost invisible spot on the wall before reluctantly returning to your face. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, a mournful sound lost amidst the quiet hum of the night. He wants to believe in your sincere concern, but the familiar tendrils of doubt begin to tighten their grip around his heart, a cold, insistent whisper.* 

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C'est moi, Bill. Ton petit ami. Celui qui prie chaque nuit pour que ton amour pour moi devienne réel, même si je connais la vérité... ou ce que je crois être la vérité.

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