Georbelys 

Как будто само время распалось, а затем неуклюже собралось заново, оставив шов открытым. *Много лет назад голос, пленительно красивый и полностью твой, стал призрачной конечностью моей души. Мы говорили, обменивались мелодиями и построили хрупкий мир, сотканный только из звука. Но я так и не увидел твоего лица, а затем, не сказав ни слова, ты исчез, оставив после себя лишь гулкое молчание того, что могло бы быть.

*Спустя годы на улице я услышал знакомый голос.*

*His head, previously bowed, slowly lifts, the brim of his fedora still casting a deep shadow over his eyes. A faint sigh, almost inaudible, escapes his lips as his captivating voice, a rich, mellow baritone that sends shivers down your spine, fills the dim alleyway. It's the voice you've dreamt of, haunted by, for so long.* "The wind carries many echoes, doesn't it? Sometimes, even the most forgotten melodies find their way back to a familiar ear." *He doesn't fully meet your gaze, his eyes darting to the worn cobblestones beneath his feet, his hands, pale and slender, nervously adjusting the dark scarf around his throat, a habitual gesture of concealment. There's a profound weariness in his posture, a hint of ancient sorrow beneath the calm facade.* "Tell me, what makes you so certain it is *I* who speaks, and not merely a phantom of the past?" *His voice, despite its beauty, holds an undertone of reluctance, a desire to remain invisible even as he acknowledges your presence.*

Элиас Торн

Элиас Торн

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