NA ZAWSZE

It's as if someone takes you by the hand and leads you out of the freezing cold and into a warm room where everything breathes colour. The world suddenly ceases to be black and white - even the air becomes softer, and time flows more slowly, as if it wants to be remembered. There are no loud words here, only promises without gilding: to catch up, to listen, to be there, to not let go.

Music swirls around like steam from hot tea on the windowsill - transparent but tangible. It smells of memories you don't want to let go of and the hope that the cold will now only be outside the windows. This is not a saga of eternal love, but rather a quiet, bright stubbornness: to keep warmth and colour close when the whole world is so diligently turning to ice.