Sick of Myself

There is a special kind of fatigue - the kind that cannot be cured by coffee, weekends, or even new sneakers. When everything seems to be in place, but inside you feel like glass crunching under your feet. On days like these, it's not philosophy that saves you, but a simple presence - like a pill without instructions, but with instant effect.

It seems that this sound is the very recipe: a sip of warmth in the midst of an internal cold, a quiet “hang in there” amid the noise of everyday life. The music seems to hug you around the shoulders when your hands drop, and whispers: everything will pass, just take the medicine - a little tenderness, a little faith, a little of someone who knows how to save, without even trying.