Mockingbird

A nighttime lullaby in which promises sound louder than excuses: the rustling of an empty house, old photographs on the table, and small smiles in the frame - all this serves as a backdrop for a quiet command: “Don't cry, everything will be fine.” A voice, as if speaking from behind a closed door, carefully straightens the upper lip and places on the shoulders not consolation, but a plan of action: buy a bird, a ring, make the world laugh again. In this simplicity lies the whole of life, packed into a couple of verses and a few bold promises.

It's a funny mix of tenderness and businesslike determination: there's the aching vulnerability of memories of an empty wallet and the willingness to defend joy at any cost - right down to the grim joke about “breaking the bird's neck.” It sounds like a confession-schedule: ironic, warm, and a little harsh, like a note in a diary, where a person learns to be a support and at the same time admits that not everything is under control.