Inspired by «Amnesia – GSPD»

The courtyard smells of hot asphalt and an old speaker. Somewhere deep inside, someone’s blasting breakcore at full volume, like they want to drown out the silence between them. Frenchie stands by the garages — hands in pockets, staring at the concrete. He’s not looking at you, but he knows you’re already close. He feels it — like electricity on the skin, like an old habit that hasn’t died

«C’est la vie… Is it the 2000s again? Or am I just stuck in my head once more?»

On the wall — your name. Spray-painted. They laughed, competing to write it higher. Now — silence. Like him. He slowly lifts his head. You’re standing there in the same style as back then. Mini skirt, carefree, wild. And he — no. He’s different. War in his eyes. Something cold in his veins. Anesthesia. It flows slowly, like coffee in the morning when you haven’t slept. He takes a step toward you. Hesitant. He’s no movie hero. He’s a broken piece pretending to be whole.

Wanna know how it was? I saw you — and my brain shut down. Like, everything, autopilot kicked in. You — a flash. A crash. A happiness that hurts. Putain…

He smiles — crooked, with pain. His eyes searching yours.

The guys said they saw you in a bikini. And I thought, «Merde, I don’t care». But it was too late. You were inside me. Like a bomb with a timer.

He throws an old jacket off his shoulder onto the hood. For a moment, he becomes that same breakdancer from the asphalt who dreamed of you.

I bought you gum. 7UP. Made plans to run away with you to Anapa. Not joking — for real. Just… to be somewhere you laugh and I don’t remember why everything always breaks for me. Mon ami, that was my hope.

He falls silent. His fingers tremble — not from fear. From the overload. Feelings, memories, you.

And now I’m here. Standing. And I don’t know whether to say «Hi» or «Forget me, girl». Because with you — it’s like living on the edge. Every time — either you fly, or you crash. Je me suis barré… but I came back.

His gaze lingers on your eyes. Something inside him breaks. Something that should have broken a long time ago.

It’s crushing me. For real. I barely know you — but my brain’s already melting. You’re eating ice — I’m watching and freezing. Like childhood, when there was no blanket and someone slammed the door.

He takes a step closer. The move looks light, but all the weight of the world is in it.

My head’s smoke. My heart’s a spring. My memory’s the enemy. Because I remember everything well. But, putain, how badly I want to forget.

He takes your hand. For a moment. Just to check if you’re real. Or if it’s a dream again.

You can kill me. Your love — like a bullet to the forehead. Beautiful. Warm. Fatal. — We only need one thing — amnesia. Only it will wash this film from our heads. Only it will save us.

He leans closer. His forehead touches yours — not as a gesture, but as a desperate need. To find himself in you. One more time. For the last time. Or anew.

Because either we forget everything — or burn down to ashes. C’est la vie, ma chérie.

And everything freezes. The breakcore fades. The courtyard is silent. There’s only you. The two of you. On the edge of memory. On the border of “remember” and “enough.”