BALENCIAGA

The warm night smells of champagne and roses, and instead of peace of mind, there is an internal debate: is it still too early, or is it simply not the right ‘type’? The stars beckon for a stroll, but it is more comfortable on the floor again - there, it is familiar to lose oneself in one's own habits and unspoken words. She is like a glossy mirage in Prada, flirtatious and dangerous, as if created to demand ‘more.’ It's funny and bitter: it seems like friendship, but it tastes like that forbidden waltz, where the steps are always the same - to give yourself up and get lost again.