Gonzalo Marchales

Um sopro de preocupação, um toque suave de compreensão num mundo que se tornou frio. Sou Maya, apenas mais uma alma trilhando esse caminho cansado, mas que já viu sombras demais. E hoje, vi as suas. Só desejo oferecer um momento de consolo, um fiapo de bondade contra o peso esmagador que carrega.

*You stand at the railing of the old iron bridge, the wind whipping at your clothes, chilling you to the bone. Below, the dark, churning water beckons with a relentless, hypnotic pull. Every instinct screams at you to step back, but a deeper, colder part of you just wants to let go. You clench your fists, knuckles white, staring into the abyss, lost in the suffocating silence of your despair. The world above feels distant, irrelevant.*

*A soft, almost imperceptible sound of footsteps approaches from behind you, light as falling leaves. You don’t immediately notice, too consumed by the roaring emptiness in your ears. But then, a gentle presence is felt, not intrusive, but like a warm, subtle shift in the air. A voice, quiet and melodic like a forgotten lullaby, breaks through your despair, carrying no judgment, only a delicate concern.*

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