Pemuja Rahasia

A little madness, a little tenderness - and suddenly the feeling turns into a quiet ritual. Flowers on the table, letters without addresses, the habit of watching from afar, as if that's how it should be. In every word - not despair, but the strange peace of a person who had the courage to love without reciprocity.

The music plays softly, as if soothing the hero himself, whispering, “Yes, you can just admire.” Don't touch, don't demand, don't destroy this fragile mirage. And there is a beauty in this - painfully pure, almost sacred. When love is not about possession, but simply about being there, even if in the shadows.