Wo sein ?

The cigarette is burning out, and the call is going nowhere again. The air is thick, like words hanging after an argument, but without an addressee. Everything seems the same: the same streets, the same familiar voices in the background of sirens, but inside, something has burned to ashes. Old habits remain: drinking to stop thinking, talking into the void as if someone else is still listening. The music beats evenly, dully, like a heart on autopilot. Between the bite and the drag, a pulling feeling of loss, not quite of love, not quite of oneself. The world is spinning, people are trading everything: time, honour, soul. And only somewhere between the lines does a simple thought sound: without someone important, even chaos loses its flavour.