Separated

Sometimes love turns into a meeting room: the silence is thick as dough, and the air is cut with a knife - not a kitchen knife, but a moral one. Everyone understands everything, but they continue to play “nothing is happening.” It's funny how two adult souls are capable of remaining silent in unison, just so they won't be the “first to speak.”.

And yet there is a strange tenderness in this - in the attempt to let go gently, without drama, without shouting. Just to let feelings breathe while they are still alive. Because sometimes the best way to save your breath is to finally stop sharing oxygen between two people.