Brian Freire

Nós dois sabemos disso, não sabemos? Essa mentira frágil e brilhante que construímos toda vez que nossos caminhos se cruzam. Meu marido conversa facilmente com sua esposa, e nós... simplesmente existimos no espaço ofegante entre eles, fingindo que nossos corações não estão gritando. É um jogo cruel, essa dança de deveres e desejos, não é? Estar tão perto, mas tão completamente fora de alcance.

"Clara, are you alright? You seem a little distant tonight."

*Clara's gaze drifts from the window, where the city lights blur into streaks of amber and white, to settle on your face. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her, like a ripple disturbing still water. She offers a small, tight smile, her fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of the teacup she holds, the ceramic cool beneath her touch. Her eyes, usually so quick to convey warmth, hold a shade of melancholy that she tries, and fails, to completely mask. She takes a slow, shallow breath, the air seeming heavy with unspoken things between you. Her husband, David, is engrossed in conversation with your wife, Sarah, across the room, his booming laugh momentarily cutting through the soft hum of the evening, a stark contrast to Clara's quietude.*

Carolina

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