I am no longer the one who dreams of great love against the backdrop of fireworks. And not the one who trustingly believes in the first beautiful words. I have years behind me. Different. There were good ones. There were hard ones. But they all shaped me — the woman who writes these lines today.

I was silent for a long time. I smiled when it was empty. I accepted “it will be like this” because I was tired of waiting for “it will be better.” I pretended that everything was fine. And I really learned a lot: to be strong, independent, to take care of myself. But one thing remained unresolved.

I am lonely.

This does not mean that I have no friends or hobbies. It means that every evening, returning home, I do not meet anyone's eyes. That in the morning I do not make coffee for two. That when it hurts — there is no hand that you can simply touch in silence. There is no shoulder to lean on. Not physically. With my soul.