Acıların Vatanı

The moon leans on the windowsill and quietly watches as the night once again transforms melancholy into art. The air is thick, as if before rain, as if something is about to be said, but instead of words, there is only breath and the light of distant stars. Everything around is slow and transparent, as if filmed on old film, where even pain breathes softly.

It seems as if distance has become a new language of love: the farther away, the louder it can be heard. Eyes, hands, childhood - everything is still somewhere nearby, just in a different time. And this causes a slight twinge, but it is beautiful. Like a song that does not ask you to return, but simply whispers quietly, “Don't go far away.”