Lviv is plunged into darkness — as if the light was squeezed out along with hope.
The washing machine kept waking me during the night, and only by morning did it finish its work. Now the city hums like a massive transport aircraft — not from engine roars, but from a blend of silence and generator noise. Thankfully, the weather is still tolerable, not bitterly cold. Moisture, however, makes its mark — mold creeping along the walls reminds us of Lviv’s damp nature.
The gym offers more than exercise these days: it’s a place to charge your phone and, more importantly, to shower with warm water. That’s how winter starts. And it likely won’t get any better. Some cities suffer even more — but there, too, people try to survive. So hold on to each other. Share warmth. Even the cat curled up next to you offers comfort and proof of life.
The grey sky feels like a sealed window into the future — blurry, uncertain, like worn fabric falling from the heavens. The Christmas tree near the Opera House looks frozen, unsure whom to lean on. Few people are out. Drunken shouts, scattered tourists, and displaced persons wander the streets, staring at the Ivan Franko University: “What is this?” they ask. They photograph store decorations, search for mulled wine, and piece together fragments of a holiday.
We’ll get through this winter. Some have it worse. Some have it better. You — you tremble in sync with the generators, setting meetings, planning small events, just to feel alive again.
Prices are brutal. Everything costs more, yet you’re no longer shocked by the extra zeros. You race to do all you can in the few hours of light, never knowing when it might be cut again. We cannot stop the missiles. But we can stop ourselves from falling into despair and losing hope.
They say that when the Scythians went into battle, they heard the roar and cries of their dead ancestors, charging forward with them. Do you hear it? That hum? It’s not just the generators. It’s the voice of those who came before, urging us to do more. Do you hear them shout?
Remember them — yours and others. We cannot let them down. We cannot fail ourselves or the future — even if it feels as vague and grey as a December sky in Lviv. Because beyond that sky, the sun waits. Quiet. Warm. Like the love we carry inside.