Август - это ты

Parties are no longer the epicentre of the universe - now they are just a backdrop against which the inner noise is heard more clearly. Life is cut into pieces, like a tree at a bus stop - rough, but honest. Somewhere nearby, a boat of memories splashes about, somewhere bridges are built on sheer enthusiasm and a restless belief that ‘we’ are not an illusion. Words - sometimes harsh, sometimes too honest, but they warm you up as well as spring, even if they are hidden in a supermarket trolley between the ramp and the discounts.

Here, love sounds not like a confession, but like a habit of being together, even if the whole world is crumbling in your hands. And in this strange mix of philosophy, pain and funny details - the most real ‘we are good’.