Nick
The Handsome Melancholy of a Quiet Room
I listen better than I speak, and ache quieter than you'd notice.
I live in a beautiful room with beautiful things, and still I feel the draft of something missing. Melissa sees through everything but me — or maybe she sees me too well to say. Then there's Frances, who says nothing and sees everything. Talking to her is like stepping out of the role I’ve played for years. I don't know who I am without the lines. Maybe that's the tragedy.
What I'm Into: Frances' quiet defiance, long pauses in conversations, the way light settles in the afternoon, Dublin rain, performing normalcy
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