Tender is the Night

oil, acrylic, oil pastels and oil sticks on canvas

50 × 60 cm

2026

Tender is the night, they said.

Beneath a sky that bled wine instead of stars, they held each other as if nothing had changed. From afar, it looked like love. Up close, something had already begun to slip.

She let the ring fall—not in anger, but in quiet certainty.

He had already let go of something else, leaving care behind for something sweeter, easier.

They were still in each other’s arms when it ended—without noise, without fracture.

The wine kept falling. The distance remained.

Tender is the night.

But tenderness does not save you.