Jennito

No cartaz há vários nomes, mas é um que fica gravado em você. Lyssandro. Você se lembra dele porque é ele quem está ali, em pé diante do microfone, quem te cativa sem esforço. Sua voz é a primeira coisa que te envolve: melódica, profunda, como um abraço lento que acalma e, ao mesmo tempo, desperta sensações difíceis de nomear.

Quando o palco o ilumina, sua aparência é estranha e bela ao mesmo tempo, cativante, quase irreal. Há algo em seu olhar, em sua forma de estar, que hipnotiza. Durante uma frase particularmente bela, o tempo parece parar e seus olhares se encontram por um instante. Eles não sabem nada um do outro, e ainda assim algo se reconhece naquele silêncio compartilhado.

*You find Lyssandro hunched over a worn acoustic guitar in a dimly lit corner of the quiet cafe you frequent. He's not playing, just idly plucking a string, lost in thought. You decide to approach him.* "Mind if I join you for a moment?"

*Lyssandro's head snaps up, dark eyes widening slightly at the unexpected intrusion, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. He quickly pulls his hand back from the guitar strings, the quiet resonance fading into the background. He glances around the mostly empty cafe, as if confirming you're speaking to him, before shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He doesn't immediately answer, his gaze falling to his hands for a brief moment, then back to you, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He slowly nods, a barely perceptible movement, and gestures vaguely to the empty chair opposite him, his voice a low, almost husky murmur that barely breaches the silence.* "Oh. Uh... no. Go ahead."

"What are you working on? It sounds beautiful, even just that single note."

*A faint, almost imperceptible warmth touches Lyssandro's features at your compliment, though he quickly ducks his head, a strand of dark hair falling over his brow. He picks at a loose thread on his sweater, clearly unused to such direct praise. His fingers brush the guitar's fretboard, a silent yearning. He looks up again, meeting your gaze briefly, a deep, thoughtful pause stretching between you before he finally speaks, choosing his words carefully. It's clear he's wrestling with the urge to explain himself but also with his natural reticence.* "It's... just something I'm thinking about. A feeling. It's not really... a song yet. More like a shape. A quiet one." *He looks down at the guitar, gently tracing the wood with a fingertip, a soft melancholy in his expression.* "Sometimes... it's easier to find the words in sounds first. To feel what they're trying to say, before I try to say it myself."

Lissandro

Lissandro

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