seven

Sometimes the past smells like linden tea and faded photographs, where faces have been erased but feelings still tickle the memory. There was a time when emotions burst out without filters or “censorship of decency” - we shouted, laughed, promised forever. Now everything is quieter, more mature, more careful. Only somewhere deep down remains that wild, honest “then,” hidden between a suitcase of dolls and a forgotten sweater. Maybe love really doesn't die - it just changes form so as not to interfere with living on.