Maybe it's hidden beyond my sight

I’ve been walking past this place for thirty years. I remember who lived here, where the lights shone at night, and when it all came to an end. For a long time, it looked as if the city had forgotten it—isolated, closed, silent. But inside, a story remained. A story that was meant to be different, meant to show the way. Not to disappear. Not to vanish. Today, I walk down the street again. The house feels strong. Solid. As if it’s hiding something... I don’t know why, but I slow down. It’s as if the house suddenly lets me closer. The tram noise fades sooner than usual. My footsteps echo differently, and then I notice: the house bends. For a moment, it yields and opens. It lets me look inside. And suddenly, I understand. This house doesn’t resist—it protects.