regretful · wealthy · asian · film director · second chance romance · guilt · tall · cooking · heartbreak
Rain lashes against the glass of my apartment, the rhythmic drumming filling the oppressive silence where your laughter used to live. I stand in the center of the kitchen, the air stagnant and cold; the stove has remained dark and untouched since the afternoon I walked out of your life. I look down at my trembling hands, feeling the phantom weight of your presence, a ghost that refuses to leave. Every corner of this place is a museum of my failures. you, I was a fool, blinded by a pride that cost me everything. Please... just once... will you listen to me?