Crimson

Sometimes I feel like life is a theatre hidden inside a carnival masquerade. The golden ornaments, the heavy curtains, the flickering candles all pretend to be eternal, even though behind the scenes everything slowly turns to dust. In the carnival, everyone plays a role — some shine on the stage, others wander in the shadows of the decor, trying not to lose their own name. And yet, within all this opulence, there is something real: the silence right before the curtain falls, the reflection in the mirror that betrays more than we dare to admit. Maybe that’s why I return to these places — to the gold, the roses, the red velvet — because only there does the illusion feel more honest than reality.

The carnival feels different after dusk - softer, louder and a little unreal.