ブルーベリー・ナイツ

There are songs in which love is not about roses and movie endings, but about the scents that linger on the skin and the habit of clinging to a ghost, even when your mind is screaming “it's too late.” It is bitter, sticky, like an unfinished cocktail in a night bar, where the clock has long lost its rhythm and “25:00” stretches on endlessly.

There is no heroism here, only tired circles on a rusty staircase and a shameless plea: “don't go, don't leave.” The song sounds like an admission of one's own stupidity - and there is a strange beauty in that. Because even in destruction, there is tenderness: not the mythical love of fairy tales, but real love, with flaws, with the taste of blueberries and salt, which for some reason still keeps you afloat.