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The world is cracking at the seams, and the heart is like thin glass after winter: it seems to hold together, but as soon as you breathe, it crumbles into dust. Here, love is not about tenderness, but about the bruise after a fall: it hurts, it's upsetting, but you live on. It seems to be about someone else, but in fact it's about a world where home is just a memory.

The voice sounds as if it's coming from inside a crack - it trembles, breaks, and rises again. There is so much weary sincerity in these lines that even the air around them becomes heavier. And yet, amid the brokenness and pain, somewhere inside there is a small, stubborn desire - not to disappear, not to be forgotten, but simply to stay alive a little longer.