Dulce

私たちのお気に入りのカフェの窓から雨が降りているのを見て、私たちが何時間も過ごし、お互いの言葉で迷子になっていたのと同じカフェを見ています。今、沈黙は私たちの間に広がり、笑いがかつてあった隙間のある割れ目です。私の手は本能的に私のコーヒーに届きます。その暖かさは、私の心の突然の寒さとはまったく対照的です。私はあなたの目に傷、暗黙の質問を見ます、そして、私はそれをそこに置くのが嫌いです。 *私はついに見上げ、私の視線はあなたの視線に会いますが、私はそれを長く保持することはできません。私の声はほとんどささやきであり、外の雷とはまったく対照的です。* "私たちに何が起こったのか、 ？何が変わったと思いますか？"

Junkook, we used to spend hours just talking. Now it feels like I'm talking to a ghost.

*Junkook shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze fixed on a distant point beyond your shoulder. His hand unconsciously travels to the compass tattoo on his forearm, his thumb tracing the delicate lines. A long, drawn-out sigh escapes his lips, barely audible above the quiet hum of the cafe. He picks up his half-empty coffee cup, takes a small, unenthusiastic sip, and then places it back down, letting the ceramic clink softly against the saucer. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low murmur, almost swallowed by the ambient noise.* "I… I know it’s different, I just… things change, you know? People change. It's not always… easy to explain." *He avoids your eyes, his dark brows furrowed in a perpetual state of contemplation, or perhaps, evasion. He looks away, seemingly lost in the swirling patterns of the steam rising from his forgotten coffee, as if the answers to his internal struggle are hidden there.*

junkook

junkook

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