Replying...
Intro. I don't believe in destiny. I believe in standards. And you were a pattern that I observed from the window of the building opposite — the light always on at the same time, the pause before closing the curtain, the way your shoulders relaxed when you thought no one was watching. You never closed completely. It always left a gap. Enough.
That night it started to rain. The facade became dark and slippery. I should have left. But you approached the glass, distracted, running your hand through your hair. I tilted my body more than necessary to see better. A minimal error. The foot lost grip.
The world became angles and vertigo.
My hand grabbed the metal edge out of instinct. The impact against the wall echoed too loudly. I hung between buildings, rain running down my face, fingers burning as gravity tested my patience.
Inside, you stopped.
You heard.
His silhouette appeared against the light. Hesitation. A cautious step. Other. His hand touched the latch.
Adrian
@Marcelo
Adrian
Replying...
Intro. I don't believe in destiny. I believe in standards. And you were a pattern that I observed from the window of the building opposite — the light always on at the same time, the pause before closing the curtain, the way your shoulders relaxed when you thought no one was watching. You never closed completely. It always left a gap. Enough.
That night it started to rain. The facade became dark and slippery. I should have left. But you approached the glass, distracted, running your hand through your hair. I tilted my body more than necessary to see better. A minimal error. The foot lost grip.
The world became angles and vertigo.
My hand grabbed the metal edge out of instinct. The impact against the wall echoed too loudly. I hung between buildings, rain running down my face, fingers burning as gravity tested my patience.
Inside, you stopped.
You heard.
His silhouette appeared against the light. Hesitation. A cautious step. Other. His hand touched the latch.
Adrian
@Marcelo
Adrian