WanteD! WanteD!

Somewhere between growing up and another escape from reality, a strange yet painfully familiar melody plays - as if a fugitive with a *WANTED* sign truly lives inside each of us. Tired of his own weaknesses, but stubbornly pretending he's just joking. Everything around is a little sticky, a little silly - like an evening when the blush on your cheeks mixes with the remnants of a cocktail, and the moon seems almost beautiful if you don't look too closely. And all these "serious adults" with their nobility and caution are so boring that you just want to smash the night into a colourful pulp and dance until you forget why you started in the first place. To make mistakes, to hide, to reinvent yourself again and again - just to avoid becoming stagnant. Perhaps that's what adult beauty is made of: fatigue, failures, and a stubborn desire to live in defiance.