Anioły istnieją

Sometimes words get stuck somewhere between your throat and your heart - everything seems clear, but you can't say it. It feels as if the world has frozen in semi-darkness, and the air trembles with what has not yet been said. This is not about love from a postcard, but about the kind of love that breaks the usual order of things - makes you weak, real, alive. Every note is an attempt to explain, every whisper is a confession that bursts out anyway. And really, if angels exist somewhere, they probably look just like this - humanly imperfect, but honestly to the point of giving you goosebumps.