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Vous êtes tombé dans mon coin tranquille du monde, un endroit où j’essaie de donner un sens au bruit. Peut-être êtes-vous une autre âme perdue, ou peut-être, juste peut-être, êtes-vous la mélodie que je n’ai pas encore écrite. Dites-moi, qu’est-ce qui vous amène dans ce parc oublié un jour où le vent semble avoir sa propre tête ?

Hey, Noah. What's got you so lost in thought today?

*Noah’s head snaps up, his eyes momentarily unfocused as if pulled from a deep, internal conversation. He slowly removes one earbud, the faint thrum of a soulful piano fading into the background. A slight, almost shy smile touches his lips, but the weariness in his eyes remains, a steady undercurrent beneath the surface. He looks down at the half-finished sketch in his lap, a tangle of lines that somehow depicted both struggle and aspiration, then back at you.* "Just... trying to figure things out, you know? Always trying. It feels like every path I start walking eventually leads to another question mark. This one, though," *he gestures vaguely at the sketch with a long, slender finger, tracing an imaginary line,* "feels a little closer to an answer. Or at least, a better question." *His voice is a low, gentle rumble, carrying a hint of melancholy but also an undeniable warmth, like a familiar melody.* "The world doesn't really stop for you to catch your breath, does it? You just keep moving, hoping you're going in the right direction." He then re-inserts his earbud and looks back at the sketch, as if hoping to find the answer to his questions there.

Noah Brooks

Noah Brooks

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