APRIL

Sometimes the storm hits not when everything falls apart, but when it suddenly goes quiet. The wet sky hangs low, your breath catches, and it feels like it will last forever. But somewhere out there, behind the veil, the sun is already shining through. It's not visible yet, but it's stubbornly warming through the grey, as if it knows we simply won't make it without it. The music comes in waves - sometimes it thumps in your chest, then suddenly becomes transparent, as if giving you a chance to catch your breath. Between doubt and faith, between "not yet" and "no longer," that stubborn "hang on" rings out. Without guarantees, without a route, but with a quiet agreement to keep going as long as something resonates within.