Пусто

The city is noisy, but inside there is such silence that it rings in my ears. Lights, bags, chains, parties - all of this is like a backdrop behind which emptiness is hidden. Almaty calls me to the streets, but instead of joy, there are only reflections in shop windows and an attempt to forget someone's name in my contact list. The evening smells of a fresh start, but the heart stubbornly clings to old feelings, like a phone on a bad Wi-Fi connection.