Szukamy wiatru

Sometimes life is like running up and down the stairs of an old house: up and down, on worn steps, wearing heavy sneakers and believing that all this is necessary for some reason. There is no glamour, no “success,” but there is night, when the city sleeps, and the thought “I must go on” spins around in your head again. It seems like everything is the same - the same view from the window, the same stairwell - but inside there is a whole universe of fatigue, pride, and warmth for those you hold on to.

Somewhere between “too long” and “one more time,” the realization comes: freedom is not escape, but the ability to remain yourself when the world is crumbling beneath your feet. And even if your armor is tattered and your faith is held together by stubbornness, you still keep going. Because as long as there is a small flame burning inside, it means that everything is not in vain.