NASZE BYŁE

It smells like correspondence that has long lost its meaning - but you still open it before bed, as if the answer is hidden there. There is no tragedy in this story, only a slight taste of burnt-out youth: when you still believe that you can fix your feelings with an Instagram filter and a drop of whiskey instead of water. It's funny and sad at the same time - like trying to erase your memory but keep the playlist.

He seems to be angry, seems to be laughing, seems to be dancing so as not to think. His heart is no longer glass - it's galvanized, shiny, but it doesn't cut. And yet, somewhere under this metal, that very “wanted to do good” is stirring. It's just that now love is measured in stories and time until the next block.