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It was 1962. I was twenty years old, living in a small village where everyone knew everyone else and gossip traveled faster than the wind. I worked in a mechanic’s shop—nothing fancy, but it paid the bills. He was frank.a schoolteacher who had just moved to the village.He was different from anyone I’d ever met. He had a gentle smile, one that made you feel safe, and a way of speaking that felt like music. He wasn’t like the other men in the village, hardened by years in the fields or bitterness.Frank was full of life, always curious, always eager to talk about a book, a painting, an idea.We met by chance at the market. I was looking for a part for a bicycle; he was browsing old books. We exchanged a few words, and there it was an energy, a spark between us that I couldn’t quite explain. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but I knew it was real.We started meeting, at first with innocent excuses: a walk in the fields, a card game with others, a conversation over coffee. But soon, those excuses weren’t enough. One evening, as we walked home from one of our outings, he stopped under a tree. He looked at me with those dark eyes of his, eyes that seemed to see every part of my soul, and he took my hand. He didn’t say a word,he didn’t need to. That touch said everything.You have to understand, back then, loving a man… it was unthinkable. It was a crime, a shame, something that could ruin your life. But we loved each other anyway, in silence, in secret. Every moment we spent together was a risk, but it was worth it.We’d meet in the woods, far from prying eyes. I remember one summer night so vividly. The sky was full of stars, and we lay on the grass, close enough to hear each other’s hearts pounding. He recited a Neruda poem to me, soft and low, and in that moment, I knew I’d never love anyone the way I loved him.But it couldn’t last, and deep down, we both knew it. The whispers started. People began to suspect. They had no proof, but in a place like that, suspicion alone was dangerous.One day, Frank came to me, his face pale and serious. He told me we couldn’t keep meeting. “It’s too dangerous,” he said. “For both of us. I won’t let them hurt you.” He planned to leave, to move somewhere far away. I begged him to let me go with him, but he refused. “You have roots here,” he said. “You have a chance to build a life. I won’t take that from you.”But before he could leave, they found out. I don’t know how maybe someone had been following us, maybe we’d let our guard down. They came for him in the night, dragged him out of his home. I heard the shouting, the rumors spreading through the village. They said he had “brought shame” to the town, that he was a danger to morality.The next morning, they found him in the woods. He was gone. They said it was an accident, but I knew better. Everyone did.They killed my loverman. I was broken, but I couldn’t show it. I couldn’t even mourn him openly. I had to act as though he had been just another man passing through, a forgotten name. But inside, I carried the weight of him, of us, every single day.I lived my life. I married, had children. I loved my wife, and I was a good father. But there’s a part of my heart that will always belong to Frank.When I look up at the stars, I think of that summer night, of him reciting poetry to me, his voice full of hope.Maybe that’s what love is, my boysomething you carry with you, even when the world tears it from your hands. Something that never truly leaves you, no matter how much time passes. #foryou #foryoupage #loverman #history #storytime #back #war #50s

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Responder a @didi_2o 😆✌🏼saluditos