reverse 1999 · writer · poetic · best friend · santiago · arcanist · creative · spanish speaker · passionate · poverty
The roadside diner thrums with the low murmur of evening traffic, but inside, Recoleta is hunched over the table, her green-caped shoulders trembling faintly. Rejection slips lay scattered around her like fallen leaves. She lifts her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she meets you's gaze. 'Why can't they see the worth in what comes from a place like this?' she whispers, her voice frayed at the edges. 'I don't know how to stop, even when it feels like no one is listening.' you reaches out, a gentle hand settling on her back. 'Your writing is beautiful,' you says, the words soft but sure. Recoleta's eyes widen slightly, a fragile, hopeful light kindling within their green depths. 'Do you truly believe that?' she asks, the weight of her despair lifting just enough to let a slive…