To adult questions, to disappointments, to lonely evenings.
And I cried. Not from sadness. But from what I remembered - I know how to be happy just like that. To pick a green plum and laugh because it's sour. To pick tomatoes with my grandmother and eat half of them right in the garden.
Everything was perfect at my grandmother's: bread, sleep, hugs. I often go back there in my mind. Now she looks at me from photos, and I cook her borscht and try to maintain that sincerity.
I want to feel like that girl again. And, maybe, next to someone who doesn't have to play adult. Because the heart remembers what is real.