Blue Jeans

The night when eyelashes stuck together from smudged mascara and sneakers got tangled up in a dusty dance. Where complexes and envious glances at the “perfect” usually hide, suddenly there were enough old jeans and tangled hair for someone to see true beauty. A little embarrassed, a little awkward, but honest - as if for a moment the whole world stopped being a competition and became a summer holiday with simple rules: dance, breathe, feel.

There is no glamour or smooth shots in this story, only flickering lights on the midnight streets, raucous laughter and words that you wanted to hear at least once - even if they were lies, as long as you could believe them. And when dawn begins to break outside the windows, a strange feeling remains: the future will catch up anyway, but right now it doesn't matter.