ABSENT

When life smells of smoke and asphalt after rain, conversations become shorter and glances heavier. In this world of burnt hearts and eternal haste, pain is almost part of the craft, and coldness is a way to survive. Here, it's not about tenderness, but about armor stretched over fatigue.

And yet, through the rasp of voices and smoke from windows, a strange, almost forgotten desire breaks through - for someone to say, “Talk to me.” No posturing, no games, no unnecessary words. Just to remind us that beneath all this hardness, a living heart still beats.