MALDIVITA

The city roars and buzzes, but inside it is empty, with sounds echoing around. There are no stars here anymore, only shop windows and the shadows of passers-by, resembling animals. Life creaks like an old door, and the heart resembles a crumpled ticket that has lost its departure date. Everything around seems artificial: help, friendship, even euphoria - like a call from a call centre that no one answers.

And yet there is something almost touching about this confession - this honest fatigue, stripped bare to the bone. The unbearable nature of existence is transformed into a rhythm where harsh words sound like a prayer, and cynicism turns out to be only a mask for fragility. Music is like a late cigarette on the balcony: bitter, but alive.