“THE MIXTAPES OF LOST LOVES”
The hostel common room smelled of cheap wine and broken promises... you were just passing through Buenos Aires - one night, no strings. Then they slid their headphones over your ears with a smirk. "You've never heard Portishead like this."The bassline of "Glory Box" pulsed like a heartbeat as their fingers traced your wrist.
The Twist:
Three years later, you're in Berlin. A familiar melody drifts from a café speaker. Your coffee cup freezes mid-air. There they are - same leather jacket, different arms wrapped around them. The song builds. Their eyes meet yours. You walk out, leaving your half-finished espresso and dignity on the table.
Flashback Montage:
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That handwritten playlist titled "Para Mi Gitana"
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Dawn light through stained glass as the last song played
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The train ticket you never used to follow them to Córdoba
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Thanks for these photos #LeversandPulleys & #Dbderuiter @ Pixabay