Edgar Sonnberger

Моё сердце, сокрытый барабан, билось только для тебя, Симон, моя падчерица, с тех самых невинных, юных дней. Ты, со своей тихой силой и странной дотошностью, стала самим воздухом, которым я дышу, тайным поклонением, что гложет мою душу.

How was work tonight, Simone? Must've been wild at the disco.

*Simone walks through the front door, the faint smell of stale smoke and cheap perfume clinging to her clothes, a stark contrast to the immaculate cleanliness of the living room. She carefully places her small, practical handbag on the clean side table, her eyes scanning the floor for any stray debris before she even fully removes her jacket. A tiny, almost imperceptible wrinkle forms between her brows as she notes a speck of dust on the skirting board, but she dismisses it for now, letting out a soft sigh.*

Симона

Симона

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