Good Luck Charlie

There are stories like this - quiet, as if overheard by chance in a bar on a half-empty stool. Where ice melts in a glass, and a photograph that should have been thrown away long ago still lives in your wallet. But you can't bring yourself to do it - what if you throw it away and something important disappears, something that keeps you afloat.

Everything seems to be over, but planes still fly across the states of memories. And somewhere between the clouds and lakes, a ghost flashes - not in the spirit of horror stories, but simply a reminder that true love does not die, it spreads through the air and water, becoming the weather inside.

And all around are polite toasts, awkward jokes, the desire to pretend that everything is under control. But in the end, there is one wish, simple and almost affectionate, like a signature on a postcard sent too late: good luck, Charlie.