ツキミソウ

Like a faded photograph at sunset, the city is painted in thick ochre, and inside, the warm traces of strangers' hands still tremble. Memories don't surface here, they cut like glass, hiding between words that were never spoken. It seems as if time should have stopped along with those words, but on the contrary, it runs on, leaving you standing alone in the crowd. And in this running emptiness, there is a desperate desire to throw off the weight from my shoulders, unbraid my hair, shout the cold out of my heart and become soft, alive and able to breathe again without that name in my chest.