iama

Winter breath here is not about snowdrifts and snowflakes - it stings, presses down, squeezes out the last of your strength, as if the cold itself has decided to spar with you. In a second, everything changes, promises dissolve faster than steam in the cold, and day turns into night again.

The air is filled with fatigue and endless “I'll definitely start tomorrow,” but the heart still searches for sparks: a smile, kindness, anything warm in the icy circle. It sounds like a dance of shadows, but underneath it is a persistent thirst for light.