Восьмий колір

The words spill out like watercolors on water - bright, translucent, boldly sincere. They have something of a child's delight, when a rainbow seems like a personal sign from heaven. And at the same time, they have an adult's willingness to pay with their life for the right to touch a dream.

Metaphors follow one after another: water, strings, sunbeams, kisses from the sky. It all sounds as if the world has suddenly turned into a palette, and the feeling itself has become that eighth color that was always missing to complete the picture.

There is a slight madness in this, but it is the brightest possible. When it seems that clouds can be driven away, light can be held in your palms, and the sky can be kissed without encountering any obstacles. And all this endless poetry boils down to a simple and almost whispered word: “allow.”