Imago

Time here is not an enemy, but a co-author - with a wrinkle on the bridge of the nose and a rhythm instead of a clock. Once upon a time, everything was louder, bolder, more important: rhymes were written on desks, life smelled of protest and cheap headphones. Now there is more air between the lines. Less “proving,” more “understanding.” The fire inside is still burning - only now it doesn't burn, but warms you when you come home late and a little tired. There is irony, gratitude, and a quiet “let's move on” in this sound. Because growing up is not about numbers, but about the ability to keep the rhythm, even when the music stops.