With age, when bodily heat calms down, when the word “passion” takes on other meanings and can mean not only the fever of love that torments you day and night... - with age, the precious feeling of love infuses like wine. You gain sight and can finally feel the cautious aftertaste of love - and it can be so different! With age, love matures, becomes smarter, its memory acquires a whole cascade of meanings, gestures and words. This is no longer a fleeting song, this is a symphonic poem of mature feelings, these are years that have absorbed all the smiles, wrinkles, strands of painted-over gray hair... All the partings, betrayals and failures. And yet it happens - somewhere far from home, in a foreign country, you will see a scene, a quarrel, a grimace of pain on an unfamiliar face, the independent gait of a werewolf-coxinel... and your heart will clench: here it is, punishment; this is the vengeful, merciless power of love. Unforgettable, unforgiving, bitter... And yet merciful.