Somebody's Pleasure

Sometimes fatigue comes not from work, but from your own mind. It whispers constantly:"You should be happy. At least a little."And inside, there is a noise of thoughts, as if someone is running around in the attic, knocking over boxes of memories. It seems like everything is there: people around, conversations, likes, but there is no peace.

The music sounds like late evening after a long day - when the city has already exhaled, but the heart is still bustling. The voice seems to be looking for a way to wash away all the accumulated noise, sew up the cracks, and finally stop pretending that “everything is fine.”

And somewhere between the lines, there is a small, stubborn hope that happiness can be real after all. Without effort. Without “must.” Just quiet, like a breath before you stop running.