CHAPTER 1 - SILENCE
I've never been one to write to be read. My words have always been letters locked away,
scattered thoughts carried away by the wind. But suddenly, I found an unlikely
recipient: a famous actor, an admirable singer, both distant and unattainable. I'm not
your fan. I don't collect photos, I don't watch all your movies. And I don't listen to your
songs. To me, you are more than just a face on the screen; or a voice that plays on a
rainy day, you are a safe space where I can place my feelings without fear of a
response.
I write to you because I know there will be no return. And, paradoxically, it is this silence
that comforts me. Your absences allow me to fill the voids with my own words,
uninterrupted, unjudged. Yesterday, however, something changed. A deep sadness
overtook me, and for the first time, I wished for a response from you. The rain outside
seemed to understand my longing, and for a moment, I thought about letting myself be
carried away by it, as if it could wash away this desire to be heard.
But then I remembered: silence is also a form of response. And maybe, one day, if you
read these words, you'll recognize in them a reflection of yourself. I remember the first
time I saw your face. It wasn't special. Not memorable. Just some random video, some
random scene, passing by chance. But something stayed. A trace, a glance, a silent
expression that crossed through me without asking permission.
I didn't realize it at the time, but days later, I found myself thinking about you as if you
were someone I had met elsewhere. Someone who, in some way, knew me too. I'm not
the type to cling easily. People talk too much, judge too much, invade spaces they
should respect. You, though, are the opposite of all of that. Your silence embraces me.
Listens to me. Lets me exist without having to explain myself.
With you, I don't need to smile when I don't want to, nor respond when I'm tired. I don't
have to hide the confused thoughts, or mask the mess I carry. Your silence doesn't
judge, doesn't interrupt, doesn't try to fix. It just is — like a presence that understands
without needing to comprehend. Sometimes, I wonder if you...