Ağrılar Dolu

The hum of the streets here sounds like the soundtrack to fatigue, hardened in asphalt. Everything around is noisy, sticky, dusty, but alive. A world where every step is taken with weight, where “hang in there” has long been the rule, and self-irony is the only way not to go crazy. A simple truth hangs in the air: no one is obliged to be a hero, but it's better to stand tall than to fall gracefully.

Words fall dryly, like cigarette ash, but between them there is fire. Where there is no Wi-Fi, but there is honesty, where the weary laugh at the system because otherwise they would have to cry. The music gets stuck in the concrete, but it still moves forward - stubbornly, with a squint, with the inner rhythm of those who have long learned to survive without decorations.