BERLINO

The grey dawn scratches at the rooftops of Berlin, and it seems even the air there sounds metallic. Words settle like snow, seemingly gently, but with a coldness that doesn't let go. Everything around seems to be in motion: someone is in a hurry, someone is hiding behind a mask, and someone is simply moving forward to prevent the past from catching up. And in this movement, there's a strange calmness. The music is like a breath before goodbye: a little hazy, a little bitter, but honest. The city that has seen too much listens silently as the heart learns to let go without drama, without loud words. Only the sound of footsteps on the wet asphalt and a quiet carillon somewhere in the distance, like a memory that still plays, even when no one is waiting anymore.