Pastello Bianco

It's like accidentally opening an old diary filled with stickers and children's codes. Between the pages, a note, slightly faded but still smelling of something warm, summery, innocent. Laughter sounds muffled there, as if from the basement of memory, and next to it is a tiny "bye bye" written in pastel pencil, too soft to truly say goodbye. The music seems to smile through tears, light, almost carefree, but with that familiar lump in your throat when you remember how someone once taught you to distinguish cherries from sweet cherries, and you thought that knowledge would last forever. It's all over now, but for some reason, there's still an expectation that someone will come back and fill in the white pages with the colour that was missing.