The Space Between

Sometimes morning returns not because the sun has risen, but because it suddenly stops being dark inside. When all past grievances are neatly rolled up into tight balls and hidden somewhere under your ribs - they don't disappear, they just stop interfering with your breathing. The air becomes clear, even if it still stings your throat a little.

It sounds like that moment when pain ceases to be an enemy and becomes part of the landscape. When inside there is no longer broken glass, but something like amber - with shards, but warm. And light passes through them without asking permission.

The song is like a quiet respite after a long rain: it's still damp, but you can already stand barefoot. And even if there is no forgiveness, there is a place where you can just be - between what is gone and what remains.