Театр

Life turns into a theater, where the wings are the only home, and the stage is too vast and cold. The masks are worn so tightly that it is difficult to remember one's own face, and the applause seems to have turned off the sound forever. Even compliments here sound like false lines that no one has taught, but everyone is obliged to say.

And yet there is something tender in this drama: a promise to heal other people's wounds, even if the roles are mixed up and the plot is falling apart before our eyes. The intermission smells of cigarettes and fatigue, but there is truth in that too. No ovations, no fanfare - just the silence of the hall and a barely audible “sorry” thrown into the darkness, where ancestors have long been sitting in the front rows.