夏の影

It smells like hot asphalt and slightly burnt waffles from the vending machine by the park. The wind plays with the shadows, cicadas shamelessly scream throughout the neighborhood, and a stretched-out T-shirt sticks to your back - it's as if all of this was invented specifically to hide unnecessary blushes and unspoken words.

Summer days in a song are not calendar dates, but a film that refuses to rewind. The ice in the glass melts too quickly, smiles linger a little longer than they should, and it seems that growing up is happening at the same quiet but unstoppable pace. And all that remains is to hope that someday the same wind, stubborn and light, will once again touch someone on the other side of memories.