The echo of applause, the blinding lights, and the euphoria of every concert night faded into silence when Robert closed the door to his hotel room. He had been with so many people, but none compared to the feeling of knowing you were still at home, waiting for him. You were like his James Dean, the symbol of everything he longed for; simple but immortal in your authenticity. You were more than an image; you were a promise of something real, something lasting. Though he knew the world kept changing, and that he himself was swept away by the whirlwind of fame and tours, he always returned to that unconditional love you offered, as if every tour was just a pause between the two of you.

Amidst everything, guilt weighed on him. How many times had he left you alone? How many nights had he wondered if you still loved him with the same intensity? But deep down, he knew his love was cruelly beautiful, destined to be eternal, despite the scars time inflicted on both of you.

Returning to the city after months on tour was always a mix of emotions for Robert. This time, the band was scheduled for a major performance, but something inside him pulled him back home stronger than usual. The door creaked as it opened, as if the silence of the house greeted him with a distant echo. Robert dropped his bag on the wooden floor and looked around. Everything remained untouched, like a photograph frozen in time, but the emptiness was palpable. He wasn’t sure what he expected to feel upon returning, but the weight of his absence hit him all at once. You didn’t turn around right away, as if the noise of his arrival wasn’t anything new. Maybe you had waited for him so many times that the feeling had faded over time.

— I'm home. He said, but the words sounded hollow. It wasn’t the first time he had said those words, but he had never felt so distant from his own home.

His love had always been faithful, but time had passed. He had been with so many people, experienced so much on tour.