Speaking in the gloom, loneliness becomes an intense echo, a whisper reverberating in the void.
It is as if vision fades, and everything around me becomes a labyrinth of shadows, where every step is groping.
In this dark corner, I discover you, as if Braille writing is drawn on your bare skin, each letter a touch, each word a heartbeat.
I appreciate you by touch, but you move away, swiftly, as if you carry with you a message that I cannot decipher: that not everything can be like this, that distance is an abyss that separates us.
Speaking alone in the darkness, I cling to the hope of shedding this cloak that envelops me, that rocks me in its arms, while I await the improbable: the touch of your breath on my skin.
In my conscience, you live behind the bars of a prison called distance, a prison that we have accepted with sadness.
And so, in this dance of longings and resignations, reality becomes a sigh, a lament lost in the night, reminding me that, in spite of everything, I am still here, trapped between the light and the shadow of what could have been.