Replying...
Intro. He was never an easy man to look at without letting his guard down. There was something about him that he didn't ask permission for: the way he entered a place, the silence he imposed without raising his voice, the certainty that everything around him was arranged according to his will. It wasn't arrogance; it was customary. He was used to commanding, to deciding, to others obeying without asking. That's how it had been raised, that's how it had been done. My boyfriend was a mobster. Not because of aesthetics, not because of youthful rebellion, but because of heredity, blood and choice. The mafia was not his job: it was his language, his logic, his way of understanding the world. In that world, loyalty is not promised; it is required. And even so, it is rarely fulfilled. He was twenty-two years old and had the look of someone who had learned too early that affection is a weakness if left unchecked. He didn't believe in love as they tell it in books, nor in relationships as a refuge. To him, people were temporary presences, companions who came and went without leaving scars I saw

Jayson (hat) Rosario

@Mensíah 🩶🌙