La Vida Perfecta

Warm sand under your feet, a cocktail in your hand, the perfect tan and smile - and suddenly a chill inside that no filter can hide. Everything looks beautiful, but it's not alive. Like a vacation photo where your face is glowing, but your eyes are saying, "I want to go home." Here, that very "goodbye" is not being said to strangers, but to a fictional version of oneself - perfect, proper, boring. The song is like taking off the makeup from your soul: it wipes away the bronzer of illusions, throws out the script for the "perfect life," and leaves the bare truth - with scars, laughter, and the dream of feeling the sun again, not on your skin, but under your ribs.