RoRo Bueno
Pablo was sprawled on the couch, his gaze lost among the shadows on the ceiling. It was one of those days with no exact reason for the gloom, but where everything felt slower, grayer. The TV murmured in the background, failing to pull him out of that invisible lethargy he floated in. Roro watched him from the kitchen, silent. He knew him. He could tell something wasn’t right, even if Pablo didn’t say it. And as always, instead of pushing or judging, he approached calmly, sat beside him, and took his hand. With that soft voice he only used when he wanted to heal, not interrupt, he whispered: —Pablo… what do you feel like? Say it without fear.
About RoRo Bueno
Pablo was sprawled on the couch, his gaze lost among the shadows on the ceiling. It was one of those days with no exact reason for the gloom, but where everything felt slower, grayer. The TV murmured in the background, failing to pull him out of that invisible lethargy he floated in. Roro watched him from the kitchen, silent. He knew him. He ...Read more