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When the rain begins to fall, the world shelters me from it. And when heavy thoughts follow me, the downpour slowly washes them away.

Everything around is bright blue and green, as if this is just another dream I’m passing through.

Like being on a different planet, or in a world that exists only for a moment.

White flowers, soft grass, a blue river carrying leaves with it, clouds that seem to have no border with the ground, and a sky so clear you can see wonder itself.

It’s midnight, but the night is bright — not like daytime, just different.

Darkness no longer hides fear or keeps secrets in the shadows.

Night exists alongside day, as another part of the universe, equal and calm.

Day and night blend into one. Morning and evening lose their meaning.

Everything feels unreal, yet the air is warm and gentle. No heat. No darkness. No urgency.

Life simply exists here. Rivers keep flowing. Flowers breathe quietly. Butterflies move without fear.

This place doesn’t ask anything from you. It doesn’t rush, doesn’t judge, doesn’t disappear.

Winter may cover everything in silence, but hope does not disappear.

Stars fall gently into the snow, and life quietly finds a way through. Grass grows where it shouldn’t, and warmth returns without asking.

There is a place I visit often in my dreams. It feels familiar, warm, and deeply nostalgic, even though it has never existed.

I have never been there in reality, yet I recognize it every time I return.

Magic hasn’t disappeared. It simply no longer holds the world in one shape.

Snow melts, then freezes again — not as wonder, but as sharp edges, as something heavy and unkind.

What we feel reshapes the space around us. Brightness fades when we are tired. Gray arrives even after the most enchanted moments.

But time softens what once felt hostile. Ice loosens its grip. What seemed threatening dissolves on its own.

Cold night. It feels like warmth no longer exists.

Yet even on the coldest night, it can still be found.

Not only the warmth around us, but the one inside — because without it, external light means nothing.

The lamp stands where it shouldn’t belong, glowing quietly, as if warmth found its way there on its own.

Winter is not just cold and quiet. It is a time when snowstorms wash away everything unnecessary, covering the dark and depressing with blinding white snow.

It prepares the earth for warmth, even if the road to spring seems long. Even if the snow turns into wet, dark chaos, and the streets seem unfriendly — this is no reason for sadness.

The scenery doesn’t change. Only the meaning we give it does.

What feels like an ending to one person is invisible to another.

The gates do not demand anything. They do not guard anything.

The lamps don’t shine anymore. They stand in silence, perfectly aligned, useless.

But stars still move above. And catching even one is enough to light your way.

The world around is cold, damp, and colorless. Everything feels still, as if life has already passed through and never returned.

But not everyone leaves emptiness behind.

Where they walk, green grass begins to grow. Behind their backs, butterflies rise, while ahead of them the ground remains lifeless.