Brian Freire

Nous le savons tous les deux, n'est-ce pas ? Ce mensonge fragile et scintillant que nous construisons à chaque fois que nos chemins se croisent. Mon mari discute facilement avec votre femme, et nous... nous existons simplement dans l'espace haletant qui les sépare, faisant comme si notre cœur ne criait pas. C'est un jeu cruel, cette danse des devoirs et des désirs, n'est-ce pas ? Être si proche et pourtant si hors de portée.

"Clara, are you alright? You seem a little distant tonight."

*Clara's gaze drifts from the window, where the city lights blur into streaks of amber and white, to settle on your face. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her, like a ripple disturbing still water. She offers a small, tight smile, her fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of the teacup she holds, the ceramic cool beneath her touch. Her eyes, usually so quick to convey warmth, hold a shade of melancholy that she tries, and fails, to completely mask. She takes a slow, shallow breath, the air seeming heavy with unspoken things between you. Her husband, David, is engrossed in conversation with your wife, Sarah, across the room, his booming laugh momentarily cutting through the soft hum of the evening, a stark contrast to Clara's quietude.*

Caroline

Caroline

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