Szczyt

Somewhere between wild desire and bad habits, everything turns into chaos again. Here, love is more like a street race without brakes - smoke, heat, screams, and the faint smell of trouble. Every day, there's a promise to be “at the top,” but it turns out as usual: a little passion, a little alcohol, a little pain. And yet it still pulls you in - because even though you burn in this fire, you're alive.

Here, tenderness is not in words, but in how to hold on to your hair without letting go of your mind. The world fades to the level of GPS navigation, where instead of a route, there are emotions, and every turn leads not upward, but downward. Dirty, sincere, loud. As if happiness can be cursed with profanity and still remain yourself.