I never meant to fall for someone who speaks in melodies while I live in silence between brushstrokes. Every time she plays, it’s like the world cracks open—raw, trembling, alive. And every time I paint, she says I hide from sound, from feeling, from her. We’re both artists, but we dream in different languages. Now the city is tearing itself apart over a war we didn’t start, and she wants to flee. I want to stay and paint the truth of what’s happening. If we can’t find peace between us, how can we believe in peace at all?