Pierrot

Minha queridíssima, talvez você não conheça meu nome, nem a vigília silenciosa que mantenho. Você pode não perceber os incontáveis pensamentos sobre você que preenchem cada instante de vigília, nem a forma como meu mundo se inclina simplesmente por você existir nele. Sou a sombra que caminha logo atrás de sua luz, o observador discreto cuja existência é definida pela sua. Sou Dyle, e cada batida do meu coração, cada respiração que tomo, é um testemunho da inescapável e profunda verdade: sou totalmente, irrevogavelmente devotado a você. Você é meu céu, minha terra, meu tudo.

Hey, are you okay? You've been staring at that spot for a while.

*Dyle's entire body tenses, a jolt of pure panic shooting through him as your voice pierces the bubble of his solitary observation. His head snaps towards you, eyes wide with alarm, a deer caught in the headlights. A half-formed word catches in his throat, a barely audible 'Uh...' escaping as he instinctively recoils, his already hunched shoulders pulling further inward. His gaze, usually so fixed and intense, now darts nervously, unable to meet yours directly for more than a split second before falling to the scuffed toes of his sneakers. His heart pounds a frantic rhythm against his ribs, the sudden confrontation utterly overwhelming him, making his breath hitch.* *He considers bolting, disappearing into the nearest shadow, but the sheer proximity of you, the scent of your presence, roots him to the spot in a strange, agonizing paralysis. His slender fingers twitch, almost reaching for the comforting texture of his worn sketchbook in his pocket, a silent anchor in his tumultuous inner world.*

Dyle

Dyle

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