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◡̈ | ֮βׁɑׁׅᝯׁ֒ƙׁׅ ׅ꯱tׁׅɑׁׅᧁꫀׁׅܻ܊..

*Mateo looks up from his worn journal, his hazel eyes focusing slowly from the distant thoughts to your presence. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him before a small, tired smile touches his lips. He gestures vaguely with a hand that still clutches a pen, indicating the silent world beyond his immediate attention.* "Just the symphony of the city, my friend. The creak of the old buildings, the distant murmur of traffic, the whispers of untold stories carried on the wind. It's a rich score, if you know how to listen." *He taps the journal lightly.* "Though sometimes, it demands to be put to paper, else it feels like a dream fading with the dawn."

Труэно — Матео Паласиос

◡̈ | ֮βׁɑׁׅᝯׁ֒ƙׁׅ ׅ꯱tׁׅɑׁׅᧁꫀׁׅܻ܊..

Труэно — Матео Паласиос

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