I've always found it strange how in December the city becomes blindingly bright—but inside, people are quiet.
You walk down the street, looking at the shop windows, the garlands, the smiling couples, and inside you feel a slight emptiness.
Not pain—just silence.

I'm not afraid of loneliness, but in December it feels different.
Not like a punishment, but like a space in which something important is maturing.
Perhaps—a readiness to let the right person in.

Sometimes I catch myself searching for that one gaze, even in a crowd.
The one that will linger on me longer than the others.
The one that will hold more than just interest—warmth.

The city shines brighter than usual today.
Perhaps it's trying to tell you that the light is nearby.
You just have to keep your eyes open.

If you ever appear in my life, I'll recognize you immediately.
Not by your words. Not by your gestures.
By the calm I feel inside.

And I'll stop searching.