"What's new?" - I asked her. We were alone in the dark of ourselves. She was lonely, set down on that old chair.
"Nothing, at all. We are still repeating the past, just that. No present, no future, nothing can stop our past". After she said it, the girl of my teenage dreams, now a woman, woke up slowly and went out the room, the same room we met for the first time many years ago. I felt, on that moment, I would never see her again.
Pintura: "Room in New York" (1932), de Edward Hopper.