Shower Tears (feat. Summer Walker)

The tension of the night, smelling of tequila and expired hope. The voice whispers ‘we should be good,’ then tears trust to pieces - messages at four in the morning and other people's photos on the phone, like silent evidence of betrayal. The desire to ignite the pain and immediately extinguish it - warmth burning the palms. Irony in words works like a cosy blanket: it warms you up, but prevents you from taking a step. Here lies the line between despair and self-respect, fatigue from constant games, and a small, foolish hope that the door will open someday.