Phoenix

Sometimes everything collapses not with a loud crash, but quietly - as if someone has turned off the sound inside. And then all that remains is the rain, washing away the remnants of pride and stubbornness. It seems as if the world has ceased to be fair, but it is in this wet, cold chaos that rebirth begins.

Phoenixes are not born of happiness - they are made of ashes. When there is nothing left to lose, a strange power suddenly appears: to get up, breathe, and burn again. Let the old “forgive me” still tremble inside, but somewhere deep under the skin, a new “live” is already smoldering. And with every heartbeat, this fire grows - hot, stubborn, real.