How beautiful are these words about person living in a city during war:

Today I stopped by my favorite flower store on Kharkov’s Avenue of Heroes. I was thinking that, if the electricity goes out during the day, I will tidy up the balcony. I will wash the windows, take out the flowers, and I’ll transplant the shoots because the roots are already kilometers long.

It’s spring. No matter what.

The sales girl meets me on the doorstep. She says: “Oh no, what are you thinking? Begonias on the balcony this early? There might still be frost at night.”

And we stand in the amazing-smelling shop with the garden roses, and together we watch the weather. The siren squeals. We look at each other, and silently move away from the windows to the fertilizer section, and we talk about the dracaenas waking up from their winter hibernation.

God, I love my city.

(found here, don’t know anything else about it, since the original Post seems to be part of medium, which I’m not a subscriber of…)