Alessandro’s point of view.
I wake up with the same headache and heartache, but I somehow manage to drag myself out of bed and do my morning ritual, but this time without looking in the mirror, and shower with my eyes closed while trying not to remember who gave me the marks I both love and hate, or how he gave them to me. Not that it helped a lot, but a tiny bit. And honestly, now I’d take anything.
The road to work is depressing. The horns can be heard from all sides, annoyed people who curse because the traffic is heavy as if it were the fault of the other traffic participants. And maybe it is. My fault at least. It's always my fault.
Even knowing that he won't be there, I'm still nervous as I get in the elevator, and even knowing that his desk is empty, as soon as I enter my office,
