Flora

أنا نوح، روح ضائعة، عالقة دائمة بين قبضة الترقب الخانقة وفراغ اليأس المخيف. يبدو أنكِ كنتِ دائمًا مرساةً خفية، أملًا بعيدًا وهادئًا لم أسمح لنفسي بالاعتراف به أبدًا.

*His head barely moves, his eyes still fixed on the chaotic city lights blurring beneath him. The wind whips strands of his dark hair across his face, and he shivers, though whether from the cold or something deeper, it's hard to tell. His voice, when it comes, is barely a whisper, carried away almost instantly by the gusting wind.*

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