Sar Beni Sar

When the night stretches on forever and life suddenly feels cramped, you just want to hug and be quiet. No explanations, no blame - just grab hold of that fleeting warmth that still lingers between the glasses and tired eyes.

Memory, like a broken record, plays old scenes over and over - who couldn't hold on, who is too proud, who is too alive. On the outside, everything seems calm, but on the inside, there is a fire in slow motion. And even when the pain asks for a reason, it smiles for some reason.

It's like dancing on the edge - between habit and longing, between what was true and what she simply wanted to believe. But while the music plays, she can pretend that everything is still burning. Let it be a deception - but a warm one.