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After love, the world turns into a midnight city without streetlights - it seems the same, but it's as if the lights have been turned off. Everything familiar becomes foreign, even the air cuts unevenly. The heart, accustomed to beating with happiness, now beats with alarm - sometimes loudly, sometimes barely audible, so as not to disturb the silence.

Love hasn't gone away here - it's just become an echo. One that bounces off the wall and comes back, a little quieter, a little sadder. In every word, there is fatigue from one's own strength, from endless attempts to understand where “we” ends and “I” begins. And yet, even in this darkness, there is warmth: the very thing that remains after a fire - from a life truly lived.