A Fact of Life

Memory is like an old film playing without sound, where faces have blurred but emotions still burn through the film. Here, the past does not beg to return; it simply stands in the corner, flashing frames and smelling slightly of ashes. Darkness is not frightening when all the lights inside have already burned out - all that remains is a quiet ‘thank you’ for what was, even if it hurts now.

Each chord is like a step on a faded photograph, where you can see that love has not disappeared, it has simply changed form. And even if history crumbles to dust, there is a strange liberation in this destruction - like a breath after a long silence.