青と夏

Summer always arrives noisily - with the smell of hot asphalt, the ringing of weather vanes, and watermelon seeds thrown for distance. It's as if it slams the door loudly and shouts, ‘Well, are you ready?’ And even if it seemed that all this was happening somewhere else, you suddenly realise - no, it's very much about you.

In a season like this, falling in love feels like a mandatory part of the programme. It doesn't matter that love scratches, confuses and sometimes brings you to tears - you still follow it, because it's what makes hot evenings brighter. And sunsets with ‘see you tomorrow’ become not a farewell, but a promise.

There is no script and no prescribed roles here; no one knows where the story will lead. But that's the beauty of it: summer is too alive to be a film. It is real, with all its chaotic tenderness, noise, pain and excitement. And at some point, it becomes obvious that the main character of this story has already been chosen.