Belt of Venus

It's as if the smell of a recent rain is hanging in the air - the kind when the asphalt is still warm, but the sky has already decided to cool down. Words aren't needed: everything is already clear from the glances, the pauses, the way the voice trembles on the exhale. A conversation they weren't planning to have, but it happened anyway - quiet, a little belated, but real. There's a weariness of waiting in this melody and a strange hope, as if the heart, despite all its cracks, still pretends to believe in miracles. A sweet pain wrapped in tenderness - like a farewell where no one dared to say the last word. And somewhere in the distance, a bird is singing - not about spring, not about happiness, but simply because the sun is setting, and life, strangely enough, goes on.