LOVE GOT LOUDER,
TRUTH GOT TWISTED.
NOW IT'S ALL NEON AND NOISE.

“ROMANTICK” is a love story told by a broken jukebox and a drunk philosopher. It’s overloaded, chaotic, neon-sick, and painfully honest. The red heart at the center bleeds messages of trust, confusion, and lust while the surrounding text screams conflicting truths. This isn’t romance—it’s a fever dream of what love has become in a hypercapitalist, overstimulated culture. It doesn't whisper “I love you.” It yells “Prove it.”

Visually, it’s an emotional explosion—graffiti verses of desire, contradiction, and satire. “No shoes, no rules,” “If you want to be trusted, lie,” and “Catch it if you can” swirl around fish, frogs, dollar signs, and fractured faces. The green character on the right isn't your prince—it’s your ego in a mask of purity. The Louis Vuitton suit, the love receipt, the twisted frogs all reflect the commodification of passion. You don’t fall in love here—you shop for it.

In “ROMANTICK,” the only true connection is disconnection. The mess is the message. This piece doesn’t define love—it deconstructs it. In a world where attention is currency and trust is dead, romance doesn’t survive—it mutates. And maybe that mutation is the most romantic thing left.