WALIZKI

It smells of gasoline, road dust, and something stubbornly human - like trying not to fall apart while flying from city to city. In the trunk, life is folded up: a pair of sneakers, a shirt, and a bag of toys, because even Santa has to work on a schedule. Somewhere out there, hundreds of kilometers away, a little voice asks when you'll be back. And the answer is always the same “soon,” which stretches on forever.

And yet, there is someone for whom you want to wake up, even if yesterday evening ended at the bottom of a bottle. Someone to whom you can give your surname as the last proof that you are still capable of feeling. Sometimes love is not flowers and sunsets, but an attempt to stop someone else from crying when you can barely stand on your own two feet.