ioeio

The soul beats against the walls of its own body, like a bird against glass, and from that sound, it becomes both terrifying and beautiful at the same time. Everything is too alive: skin, thoughts, breath. Even pain suddenly takes the form of gratitude, because it reminds you that you are still here. The inner dialog turns into a duel where both opponents wear the same face and share the same guilt. Each word is like a crack in a mirror, behind which a stranger's reflection of oneself flickers. I want to break this endless "me and me" so that only life remains, without calculations, without counting calories and minutes. And in this desperate desire, there's almost a prayer: to bless everything that's inside, even what's painful to look at.