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Autumn has decided to play drama again - the leaves are swirling, the rain is whispering about eternity, and for some reason, the heart is rehearsing the role of being broken for the first time. Although there's already experience, the degree with honours in the subject "not falling in love too hard" was obtained a long time ago. But it seems life is designed in such a way that even the second, third, or fifth sense still puts on a school uniform and goes to retake the exam - with the same naive eyes and trembling hands. Somewhere between the last message "live well, my dear" and the quiet "thank you" lies the most honest form of love - the one that knows how to let go. Not with pathos, but with that light, almost invisible click in your chest when you realise: this isn't the first pain, but for some reason, it feels new again. Maybe it's the rain. Maybe it's just that the heart is an incurable romantic that always thinks this time will be different.