WIR 2

It sounds like a conversation that should have ended long ago, but someone is still holding the phone. There is fatigue in the voice, but no resentment, more of a warm familiarity with pain, like an old song playing on repeat. Between the lines lies that very ‘what if’ that prevents the door from being closed for good.

Everything is saturated with a feeling of aftertaste: love seems to have passed, but its shadow still sits on the windowsill, drinking tea and pretending that it just stopped by for a minute. The music slowly sways, like breathing after tears - evenly, calmly, almost resignedly. Sometimes waiting is also a way of saying goodbye.