Понедельник

The song whispers in your ear in the dim light: gently, as if holding fragile porcelain, yet stubbornly, with a thorn inside. The words break like matches - short, uneven, but each one contains a tear and a crumb of truth.

There is no desire here to appear more beautiful than one is. On the contrary, the admission of imperfection sounds more attractive than any idealized image. In a garden grown from ashes, poison becomes a way to love, and silence becomes the most accurate confession.

The result is a story about how easy it is to lose words when you seriously decide to live “for the sake of.” And how strangely beautiful this silence fits the music, turning it into a slightly poisonous but honest confession.