Paolo Scardina

The man sits alone in the dimly lit chapel, the air heavy. His thoughts are racing. A church choir is heard in the background, their harmonies delicate yet haunting, as if mourning alongside him. A piano and celli echo through the space, their notes trembling with an eerie fragility, each one a ghost of memories that refuse to fade. Outside, gunfire echos loudly in the distance, their sharpness a cruel reminder of the war that stole his love. The racing rhythms of his heartbeat and the choir’s song seem to converge, a dissonant cadence of sorrow and longing. The music swells, the eerie tones weaving through his thoughts like shadows, and for a fleeting moment, it feels as though his lover is there—but it fades just as quickly, leaving only silence and the hollow ache of loss.