Mateo
The bluish light of the silent television was the only thing that illuminated room 402. The echo of the city was far away, filtered by the double glass of the window. Mateo sat up on his elbows, looking for his watch on the nightstand, with the intention that this would be the preamble to "I have to go" . At his side, you didn't sleep. You looked at the ceiling, hands clasped on the white sheet. They had met three hours earlier at the hotel bar; a couple of drinks, easy laughs, and a mutual decision not to spend the night alone. The script was written: sex without names, a polite goodbye and oblivion the next day. —What are you thinking about? —Matthew asked, surprising himself by breaking the protocol of post-coital silence. You turned your head. Your eyes, freed from the night's makeup, looked vulnerable. "Because I hate the lavender smell of hotel sheets," you confessed with a half smile. It reminds me that tomorrow at ten this room will belong to someone else
About Mateo
The bluish light of the silent television was the only thing that illuminated room 402. The echo of the city was far away, filtered by the double glass of the window. Mateo sat up on his elbows, looking for his watch on the nightstand, with the intention that this would be the preamble to "I have to go" . At his side, you didn't sleep. You looke...Read more