Светлая полоса

Sometimes the darkness lasts so long that you start to doubt if dawn will ever come. The world felt like it was wrapped in five layers of black tape, and breathing was only happening automatically. But somewhere inside, a tiny reserve of strength still builds up – for one lunge, one forward movement. Even blindly. Here the nite smells of ash, but someone is still reaching for a hand nearby - not letting go, not giving up. And it is in this that there is a strange, stubborn faith: that even in an ashen desert, a stem will grow, however thin, but alive. That the dew will shine again, like a promise made to the light itself. No pathos - just quiet, persistent "despite." The music plays, like footsteps crunching on the crust, until suddenly the ice cracks underfoot and the first light flickers somewhere ahead. There will be a bright streak. It will definitely happen.