There was just no way in this city. They said that there are always two extremes, but there are no indifferent ones. However, once I was surprised at less. So it was about me. Something inside poisoned every second, every landmark, every person. It's just a given, there's too much light and fuss.

I didn't want to talk, I didn't want to get to know these people, I didn't want to be a part of it. I wanted to go back to one of the winter evenings of the twenty-first, when I was so comfortable at home: my past no longer played a role, and the future seemed to be something interesting. I felt alive again. It will continue to be like this, only stronger. So much so that I won't be completely sure about it. That's what's going to kill me.

We'll meet again one evening. Again with such similar stories, but already so far away. This is the first time I can forget about something and open my eyes. I will be able to be spontaneous in my thoughts and expressions (it's good that we are nobody to each other). It will even feel cozy in this city for a moment.

Then Kharkov. It's a complete contradiction. I looked at the water and realized that there was no hope anymore. I was completely alone here.