Sar Beni Sar

When the night stretches into infinity and life suddenly becomes cramped, you just want to hug and be silent. Not to explain, not to look for someone to blame - just to grab hold of that elusive warmth that still remains between the glasses and tired eyes.

Memory, like a broken record, replays old scenes - who couldn't hold on, who is too proud, who is too alive. On the outside, everything seems calm, but on the inside, there is a fire in slow motion. And even when the pain asks for a reason, it smiles for some reason.

It's like a dance on the edge - between habit and longing, between what was true and what she simply wanted to believe. But while the music plays, she can pretend that everything is still burning. Let it be a deception - but a warm one.