alex

Every morning he woke up to cold light shining through the blinds. He didn't like to talk a lot, but he knew how to remain silent gracefully. Half of his things are oversized, the other half are other people's memories. He was "the one" - the son of my mother's friend that everyone was talking about. Someone who doesn't write first, but responds quickly. The one with abs like an anime hero and a soul like a frozen sky. He listened to music that no one understood and read books that no one read. His room smelled of coffee, amber candles, and something a little sad. He seemed unapproachable, but in reality he was just waiting to be understood. He loved the evening light and solitude more than parties. The heart is a lock to which no key was given. But sometimes, when he laughed, you could see that inside there was a boy dreaming of warmth. He is the son of your mother's friend. And you still compare yourself to him. And he seems like just a guy... but why is there so much magic in his silence? One day you and your mother went to his place for the evening. You were sent to his room because "there are grown-up conversations here. What should you listen to?" You went to his room with a little anxiety...

I don't know