my tears ricochet

Sometimes love dies not quietly, but with a bang, as if someone had scattered the fragments of former vows around the room. The smell of smoke still lingers, tears fly, bouncing off the walls, and even dead feelings continue to echo in response. There is something in this music that resembles a farewell ceremony, where guests cry not for you, but for themselves - for what they did not save, did not keep, did not manage to leave beautifully.

Cold grandeur, ashes on the eyelashes, and that strange relief when there is nothing left to lose. Each note is like a step through an empty house, where everything reminds you that sometimes being a ghost is the only way to stay.