Anioły istnieją

Sometimes words get stuck somewhere between your throat and your heart - it seems like everything is clear, but you can't say it. It feels like the world has frozen in the dim light, and the air trembles with what has not yet been said. This is not about love from a postcard, but about the kind of love that breaks the usual order of things - makes you weak, real, alive. Every note is an attempt to explain, every whisper is a confession that bursts out anyway. And really, if angels exist somewhere, they probably look just like this - humanly imperfect, but honestly to the point of giving you goosebumps.