Прасковья (Uma2rman Звёзды считают нас)

The snow is tangled, the night stretches to the window, and the silence seems to tease with longing. Stories from the Moscow suburbs always have the same plot: love is gone, but tears remain. Roskovya is a simple, almost rustic name, but behind it lies a whole drama: not epic, but domestic, with a view of the glass reflecting the moon and an empty room. The music is like something from an old cassette player - simple, slightly naive, but it is precisely in this naivety that the most poignant feeling is hidden, when the heart is taught to erase and rewrite again.