Wind

Sometimes the world looks like a wet postcard - everything seems to be in place, but the colors have blurred. People say hello, ask “how are you,” and immediately turn away without waiting for an answer. Hearts close like windows in winter - to keep out the cold. Even likes are warmer than conversations.

These lines describe everyday life, where loneliness has become the norm, and comfort comes not from people, but from the wind, singing a quiet, almost familiar “hang in there.” Sadness does not cry out; it just sits nearby, pours tea, and reminds us that being tired is not a weakness, but a form of existence. Sometimes it is not a miracle that saves us, but the very thought that even the winter air can sing.