He was still hearing those voices in his head when he arrived to the plaza. He believed going out might help. It didn’t, but at least it didn’t…
I know this table. This floor. All of them I know too well. Or I knew.
I guess that the most pressing image I still carry of you is your hair. Beautifully messy, golden, and incomparable to anything I had ever seen, or…
You’re looking at him. That you simply cannot deny. What does he have? Tell me. It might be the eyes, but you have to look harder.
And while awaiting what ought to have happened between you and him, you stared into his eyes, realizing you would never be able to kiss him.