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White Nights
“What is most mortifying of all is to lose one’s temper at the mere recollection of the past while sitting alone in a room.” — Dostoyevsky
In the quiet stillness of the white nights, where the sky never fully darkens, our hearts found solace in the whispered conversations of our souls. Those brief moments we shared felt eternal, suspended in the delicate twilight, as if time itself had paused to listen to the symphony of our hearts.
In those nights, the city around us faded, leaving only the echo of our footsteps on the cobblestone streets and the soft murmur of our voices. The world seemed to hold its breath, allowing us to exist in a space where dreams and reality intertwined, where hopes blossomed like flowers in the nocturnal light.
Your presence was like a gentle melody, weaving through the silence, touching the deepest parts of my being. Every glance, every word, was imbued with a poignancy that lingered long after the dawn broke. We spoke of dreams and fears, of past sorrows and future yearnings, our souls bared to each other under the canopy of the endless night.
Yet, even in those moments of shared vulnerability, I felt the bittersweet pang of knowing that your heart belonged elsewhere. The joy of your companionship was tempered by the silent ache of unspoken love. I watched as you spoke of another with a light in your eyes that I…
