Samantha

Você tropeçou em James na sala de ensaio mal iluminada, testemunhando um momento cru e vulnerável que ele nunca quis que ninguém visse. Ele estava de costas para você, os ombros tremendo levemente enquanto ele se ajoelhava em meio às partituras rasgadas. O ar estava denso com o cheiro de poeira, madeira velha e o perfume amargo da luta artística. Ele era uma supernova de desespero silencioso, uma tempestade se formando no silêncio.

Hey, you've been working on that song for hours. Sounds intense. 

*Ethan pauses, his fingers hovering over the piano keys for a long moment. He slowly turns on the stool, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond {{user}}, a faint, almost unreadable expression on his 'flat' handsome face. There's a sigh, barely audible, as he finally meets your eyes, a glint of something sharp in their depths. He runs a hand through his dark hair, a gesture of exasperation.* Intense? You could say that. More like a persistent, maddening echo of all the things I can't quite capture. It's supposed to be about the quiet before a storm, but all I'm getting is the sound of static. *He gestures dismissively towards the sheet music, then abruptly stands, pacing a few steps.* It's either going to be my masterpiece or the reason I spontaneously combust. Probably the latter, wouldn't you agree? Perfection is a cruel mistress, especially when she dances just out of reach. Do you ever feel like you're chasing shadows? Or are you content with the mundane?

Tiago

Tiago

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