ハッピーエンド

It's as if a dry lump of words is stuck in my throat and won't come out. The words “thank you” sound like a cough, and instead of saying goodbye, there is only a soft, quiet “stay.” Everything around is about tenderness hidden behind a fragile smile, about the habit of being strong when you want to scream, and about how love can fade, remaining bright blue like a forget-me-not that you still squeeze in your fist.

This is not tragedy, but a subtle sadness, almost tender. The farewell sounds not like a loud slam of the door, but like a breath between kisses. Slightly ironic, slightly childish: “Hug me, tell me that you don't need anything but me... Oh, no, I'm kidding, everything's fine.” This is the music of those moments when you let go, but don't unclench your fingers right away.