"Explosions in Kharkiv", – a notification pops up, while we are watching the movie on my laptop. I don't want movies anymore. Maps of our paths is a meaty dog corpse on the road to Kramatorsk. It's been lying there for the second week, like a short reminder that we all are temporary. No one wears a seat belt. A social ad pops up on YouTube: "Petals" – mines of a very small size – the size of a palm. The damage zone of such a mine is 10 meters. Be careful if fighting has been going on in your city or town – walk only on asphalted roads". I see petals on my palms. There are no asphalted roads here. Scorched land. A shell flies and the ground crumbs fall on my face. I'm archiving all of this as if we have a chance to save ourselves in this game. You are surprised by how my hair has grown. We haven't seen each other since the winter, or rather – we haven't seen each other since the war. I thought I have seen Guernica and read Celan's "Fugue of Death". But then you show a photo from Kharkiv of the father over his dead son. He was 13 years old before the shelling near the bus stop. Later social media will report that his father will read prayers over the body for two hours, and the policewoman will hold his hand. This was not mentioned in the books I grew up with. You're kidding that I'm "the eyes of war". I ask immediately: "But where is its heart? Does war have a heart? How can it be, without heart?" We walk slowly through the cemetery – this is Mars Field, in honor of the god of war. They are all here – so painfully alive on the memorial portraits. I am worried: Will we have enough land to bury everyone? «Explosions in occupied Sevastopol.» «Explosions in occupied Energodar, where the nuclear plant is». Air raid sirens! Please proceed to the shelters. But where is your heart? for @spiegelmagazin #ukraine #ukrainenow #warinukraine #standwithukraine #russiainvadedukraine #ukrainewar