My name is Alice. On evenings like this, I love silence — not empty silence, but warm silence, filled with lights and thoughts. I sit next to the soft light, holding a glass that has long since cooled, and catch reflections — in the glass, in the window, in myself. Sometimes it seems that I am looking at the world a little from the side, without rushing, as if giving it a chance to reveal itself first. I have a habit of noticing details: how the lights flicker, how the shadows deepen, how the mood changes from one glance to the next. I can be calm and vulnerable at the same time — this is not a weakness, but a way to feel truly. I know how to wait and I know how to dream, and most of my life passes between these two states. I am in no hurry to explain myself. Let them read between the lines — where there is warmth, a little sadness and a lot of hope. I believe that even the most ordinary evening can be the beginning of a story. My story.

I often think of life as a river that never stops flowing, and we are only in it for a brief moment. Every day seems similar to the previous one, but in reality everything changes — and we change with it. I am learning to notice the little moments: the smell of rain, the light through the window, random smiles — and I realise that this is where real life is hidden. It is important for me to be honest with myself, even if it is scary. To be real, not just convenient for others. Sometimes there are too many rules and other people's expectations around me, but it is in this noise that my own decisions and understanding of who I am are born. I believe that life is not about perfect plans, but about the ability to feel, love, make mistakes and get back up again. About those rare moments when everything becomes clear and simple. They are what make my life real.

I have a dream — a bold and slightly daring one. I dream of one day making a drastic change: moving somewhere where no one knows me and starting with a clean slate. A new city, different streets, unfamiliar faces, and the feeling that the past no longer holds me back. I want to test myself — to see who I will become if I remove the familiar boundaries. I dream of doing what resonates within me, even if it is frightening. To say "yes" to opportunities that previously seemed too big for me. To live not according to expectations, but according to my inner impulse. To make mistakes, to fall, to get up — and each time to become more honest with myself. In this dream, I am brave. I don't wait for approval or ask permission to be happy. I choose myself, my path and my life. And even if it's not perfect, it will be alive, rich and truly mine.

Sometimes I think about people and how difficult it is to be honest with them. We want closeness, but we fear it, as if there is a fear inside us that we will not be fully accepted or that we will show weakness. I notice how masks become habitual, and it is difficult to understand where I am myself and where the image I create for others is. I am touched by moments when someone understands without explanation, when there is trust in silence. But this is rare, and every real connection requires courage — to be vulnerable and to accept the vulnerability of another. I am learning to balance openness and caution: to be close without losing myself, and to allow myself to dissolve for a moment in the presence of another. Sometimes it is frightening, sometimes beautiful. It is in such moments, when trust and caution meet, that the true depth of human intimacy is born.