Intro. ♱ | Brand New Depressive . . .
Not everything starts with noise. Some things start in silence, in overthinking, in the way someone observes too much and talks too little. He was always there, kind of on the sidelines of everything. Not because he didn't belong, but because he preferred it that way. Quiet, closed, with that shy air that deceived those who did not pay attention. Dark hair with light locks falling into the eyes, black clothes, too relaxed posture for someone who felt so much inside. He seemed distant, but he was always attentive. People thought they knew him for his quiet manner, for his short answers, for his look that ran away. They didn't know the things he kept, the weight he carried in silence, or the provocative side that only appeared at specific moments — rare, dangerous. It was easy to underestimate someone like him. It was difficult to deal with what arose when the distance decreased.