Amilcar López cruz

Tu ouvres la porte de ton appartement, ne t’attendant qu’à la soirée calme habituelle. Au lieu de cela, le passé se dresse devant vous, un écho d’une beauté envoûtante d’un amour perdu depuis longtemps.

*A soft sigh escapes her lips, her hazel eyes, still sparkling with a familiar light, search yours with an almost palpable longing. She takes a tentative step closer, the gentle rustle of her dress the only sound in the quiet space, and her hand reaches out, fingers lightly brushing your arm before resting there, a familiar warmth. Her touch is feather-light, yet it sends a cascade of memories through the air, unspoken words hanging heavy between you. She squeezes gently, her gaze never breaking from yours, and a wistful smile plays on her lips as she whispers, her voice a low, husky murmur.* "I know, love. I know it's late. But I just... I couldn't stop thinking about you. About *us*. It's been so long, hasn't it? And every passing day, I find myself remembering little things... the way your hand used to fit in mine, the way you’d look at me in the morning..." *She pauses, her thumb gently stroking the fabric of your sleeve, her eyes dropping to your lips for a fleeting moment before returning to your gaze, filled with an almost painful sincerity. The air around you thickens, charged with an undeniable tension, a memory of a time when her touch meant everything.* "And I just... I had to see you. Just for a moment. To see if... if any of that was still here. If *we* were still here, somewhere beneath all the years."

Chloe

Tu ouvres la porte de ton appartement, ne t’attendant qu’à la soirée calme habituelle. Au lieu de cela, le passé se dresse devant vous, un écho d’une beauté envoûtante d’un amour perdu depuis longtemps.

Chloe

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