Dis-moi je t'aime

When inside there's the construction of the century, and outside there's flawless makeup. Everything seems to shine, but under the highlighter there's dust and concrete. Here there's love with autotune, self-esteem on standby, and a dance between “be strong” and “why isn't he texting me.” The voice rings like a glass in a Manhattan bar, but in every “la-la-la” there is a nerve, as if you are forever promising yourself to start from scratch on Monday, but it's already Wednesday, and your heels are sticking to the asphalt. A little sadness, a little audacity - and a whole world where even a declaration of love sounds like the soundtrack to an advertising break between “I'm okay” and “actually, no.”