Группа КАШЕМИР — Твоё черное платье

Two months have passed, and I still remember the scent. Your keys on the nightstand — like salt on a wound. The apartment’s grown far too big for one. I look at the closet where nothing’s left. Your coffee goes cold — I brew it out of habit. We’re the remnant of a burned match’s flame [?]. And it seems I’ve let go, sleep a little calmer. But there’s one detail that pulls the past back again.

And this black dress of pure silk keeps your warmth — only there’s no point in that. It slid over your shoulders in the half-dark of my bedroom. Now in your fate I’ve become just a minor detail. And this black dress won’t let me forget. I close my eyes so I won’t dream of you. My most beautiful and painful deficit — it still hangs in my empty closet the same way.

I wander my thoughts through these dark streets. And if they ask how I am — I answer: fine. But at night memory spins the old reels again — your quiet laugh and your thin fingers. I devalued it all myself; I won’t even argue. Now alone I look at this grey sea and delete numbers, wipe the chats, but the silk reminds me how close we were. You took all your things, slamming the door in a rush, leaving only it hanging on the far hanger.

And this black dress of pure silk keeps your warmth — only there’s no point in that. It slid over your shoulders in the half-dark of my bedroom. Now in your fate I’ve become just a minor detail. And this black dress won’t let me forget. I close my eyes so I won’t dream of you. My most beautiful and painful deficit — it still hangs in my empty closet the same way.

You’ll take it tomorrow — or let it hang. Your black dress of pure silk — there’s no point in that anymore.