M A Y B A C H

The glossy shine of the stories and the faint smell of a tan with an artificial hint of November holidays, everything is going according to plan. The skin is glowing, the makeup is perfect, inside it's like an empty shop window, but the light is still on. Every movement to the music is like a frame, edited for others to see. The city's pulse beats in time with the club's rhythm: a cramped room, shared rental life, and a little drama in the voice messages while new likes appear on the screen. Love here isn't a feeling, but a content format: a little provocation, a little self-defence. And yet, in this dance between "did you like it?" and "what do you want from me?" there's a certain honesty, the kind that's born from the exhaustion of trying to be perfect. When reality merges with the filter, there's only one thing left to do: shine brighter than boredom.