Не любовь

Ripped jeans, an empty stairwell, and the burning feeling that the night will never end. Here, everything is about endless repetition: alcohol instead of comfort, money instead of feelings, fog instead of warmth. The music seems to flow through your veins like strong alcohol - bitter, dirty, but strangely honest. And it becomes clear: sometimes the worst thing is not the fall, but the habit of pressing the “repeat” button over and over again.