Quando

Breathing, as if it were the culprit of all troubles. It stumbles, trembles, grasping at the air, as if trying to hold onto something that has long been slipping out of control. Each note has a feeling of fragility, like a person who simultaneously wants to live and is afraid to breathe too deeply so as not to be hurt again. Love here isn't about romance, it's about instinct, clenched fists, and the foolish stubbornness not to let go. Every word sounds like an admission of imperfection. They say, yes, it's all because of ourselves: because of the body, because of the silence, because of the desire to be understood by at least someone, just once. And the tighter the embrace, the more painful the touch. It's simple: love and pain, like inhaling and exhaling, don't exist without each other.