Boom!

A reality shrouded in smoke, where pills mix with anxiety and phone calls go unanswered. Words seem to rush by at speed, bumping into each other and scattering on the concrete of fatigue.

Inside, there is a seesaw: sometimes the admission that you want to hear their voice every day, sometimes a harsh “sorry, I won't answer the phone.” Everything spins in “come on, come on” mode, but my own foggy head prevents me from taking a step forward. The music sounds like an internal chat, where instead of emojis there are pills and sleepless nights.