Echoes of Glory: FC Barcelona Imagine

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ Hold It In (Pedri Gonzàlez.)

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You wake up at dawn, the morning light filtering through your curtains. The first thing you do is reach for your phone, hoping to see a message from Pedri.

It's become a ritual, this longing to connect, to bridge the gap that has grown between you both. You scroll through your messages, but there's nothing from him today.

The silence feels heavier than usual.

The memories flood back—the late-night conversations, the laughter, the shared dreams. But now, everything has changed.

You've both decided to step back, to redefine your relationship from lovers to friends. It's supposed to be the right thing to do, to give each other space, but the ache in your chest refuses to subside.

You try to hide your emotions, bury them deep where Pedri won't see. You put on a brave face, tell yourself it's for the best.

Yet, every moment feels like a battle against the urge to reach out, to hear his voice again, to feel his warmth even through a text.

Days pass, and you find yourself constantly reminded of him—in the songs you used to listen to together, in the places you visited, in the jokes only he understood.

The transition from lovers to friends feels like walking on a tightrope, each step uncertain, each smile forced.

And then one day, you receive a message from Pedri. It's brief, casual, nothing like the messages he used to send.

You read and reread it, searching for hidden meanings, for traces of the love that once bound you so tightly together.

But it's not there. He's really mean to you now, in the name of friendship.

You realize how much has changed overnight. The closeness you once shared now feels like a distant memory, a rose whose thorns have pricked your heart.

"My love, hon," his messages used to begin, but now they're just polite inquiries about your day. You miss the intimacy, the familiarity that once defined your connection.

The traces of the past devour you, leaving you longing for something you know can never be fully restored.

You cling to the heart he gave you, afraid it might find its way to someone else.

You want to call him, just to hear his voice, to feel a moment of the old comfort. But the fear of rejection holds you back.

It's hard to make that phone call, to bridge the gap that seems to widen with each passing day.

You turn your back on him, trying to move on, even as your heart refuses to let go. The memories, both bitter and sweet, swirl around you.

You take them out, one last time, to see what made you happy, to relive the moments when everything felt perfect.

"Even if you love someone else," you finally admit softly to yourself, tears welling in your eyes, "there’s nothing else I can do."

"I’ll take them out and see what made me happy," you continue, your voice trembling with emotion,
"maybe forever."

"I think I’ll bury them," you murmur, the weight of your decision settling upon you, "so I’ll take them out one last time."

"I'm waiting without a promise," you whisper, the words heavy with finality, "Goodbye."

"I’ll bury it all," you finally say, your voice filled with sadness, "leaving only regrets."

The line fell silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. There were no more words left to say, no more promises to make.

Just the quiet acceptance of what had come to pass, and the sorrow of a love that had been buried beneath the weight of change and time.

As you put down the phone, you knew that life would go on, that wounds would heal, and that someday, the ache in your heart would fade.

But for now, all that remained were the echoes of a love that once burned brightly, now dimmed but never forgotten.

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