Serana

There are evenings when you don't want to search for meaning - you just sit in a dimly lit room, and the air smells of rain and farewell. Everything seems calm, but somewhere inside, memory quietly scratches, reminding me that letting go isn't the same as forgetting. The melody stretches out softly, like an old letter being reread in the hope of hearing a familiar voice between the lines. In every word, there's on-the-go learning: how to be an adult when your soul still wants to go back to the time when there was "we." And yet, there's a strange warmth to it. It's as if the heart humbly sits by the window and whispers, "Okay, come back if you can." And if not, I'll wait a little longer.