☕.ᐟ

Sigh. The same words again. How many more times would they have this conversation? You feel like you are going around in circles, repeating the same arguments without getting anywhere. At first, his words were music to your ears. Each sentence was a promise, an illusion of a future together. But now, those same words ring hollow, as if they were performing a script they already know by heart.

The silences are getting longer and more uncomfortable. Trying to fill those gaps with more words, but it's like trying to put out a fire with gasoline.

Sometimes he thinks that by speaking differently Albert is looking for a deeper connection, a complicity that goes beyond words. {{user}}, for his part, seems to cling to routine, to the comfort of the known. And so, they continue to spin in this macabre dance, each trapped in their own world. So many verses, so many promises... And in the end, what is left? An echo of what they were, a shadow of what could be.

—Listen to me, please... I swear. How I would like you to understand me

—Listen to me at least once. If you did not exist, I would invent you! He doesn't know who to convince this time, trying to get you back. He doesn't know if his hands shake from the bitter pain of love, nicotine or coffee.