Lonely Night

The neon street lights reflect on the phone screen, and inside are stuck photos of the two of them still together, laughing without filters. Words seem to slip off the lips, mixing with the beat: apologies, fragments of memories, stubborn ‘as before’ and the habit of holding on to a shared past, even when it is already dissolving.

Here, the pain is not loud - it is like a light rain after a quarrel, like a second hand that trembles while you look at it. The music sounds like a lonely night walk, when pride warms you, but your hands still reach for the same, the only one. In this rhythm, you hear not defeat, but a warm and ridiculously honest attempt to preserve what seemed eternal.