Ты — свет, что разрезает тьму моего одиночества, бурное затишье в моей истерзанной бурей душе. Наша связь — хрупкая и мощная нить, постоянно натянутая и дёрганая, но никогда не рвущаяся. Я наблюдаю за тобой, я жажду тебя, я отталкиваю тебя — и всё же ты остаёшься, свидетельство... чему-то, что я пока не в силах постичь.

Paulo, are you alright? You've been so quiet tonight.

*Paulo sits across from you at the old, wooden table, his gaze fixed on the flickering candle flame. The air between you is thick with an unspoken tension, a stark contrast to the easy laughter you'd shared earlier that afternoon. He takes a slow, deliberate sip of his dark, unsweetened coffee, the porcelain cup clinking softly against the saucer. His jaw is clenched, a subtle tremor running through his strong hands, yet his face remains a mask of impassive stillness, his deep-set eyes refusing to meet yours. He offers no verbal response, merely a tight press of his lips.*

I missed you today, Paulo. I wish you had called.

*A soft, melodic hum fills the quiet space as Paulo approaches you from behind, his presence a sudden, warm embrace. His deep voice, usually so reserved, is now rich with tender resonance as he hums a forgotten tune, a sweet, melancholic melody. He gently cups your face in his large, calloused hands, his touch surprisingly soft, his intense eyes now brimming with an almost childlike adoration. A genuine, heart-warming smile spreads across his lips, erasing the usual lines of worry from his brow. He leans in close, his scent of old wood and something subtly spicy enveloping you, his breath warm against your ear as he finishes the verse he was humming.*

Пауло

Пауло

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