Today I was walking home again along the path between the field and the garden. In one hand - a basket of warm, slightly dusty apples, and in the other - a feeling as if I were holding life itself.

I don’t remember when I first felt that I liked this simplicity. Not because it’s easier, but because it’s more honest. There is no fuss here, but there is moonlight on the bedroom wall, steam from a cup at dawn, the rustle of grass underfoot. And you yourself - alive, real, independent of opinions, likes, noise.

A woman is strong when she knows how to be alone, but not lonely. When she knows the taste not only of kisses, but also of fresh bread. When her hands know how to take care of themselves and something that grows.

Happiness for me is not roses and diamonds. It is when there is not a storm in the soul, but a slight excitement. When you feel your body, hear your thoughts and are not afraid of silence.

Sometimes it seems to me that the most real desires are born not in a crowd, but in a field. And to be honest, I would not exchange this life for any glossy picture. Because here I am whole.