Попутный ветер

There are voices that sound like memory. Not the one in your phone, but the one under your skin - where the scent of the wind lingers, half-spoken words, and eyes you can't forget, no matter how many times you tell yourself otherwise. The wind here isn't just an element, but an ally - it whispers, swirls, and brings you back to where you thot you had already left. And everything repeats in a cycle: the attempt to forget turns into another verse, and every breath becomes a chorus. Soft, tired tenderness, wrapped in sound, where love doesn't fade, but simply learns to live between the lines.