Volver a 2017

There's a smell of cheap cigarets and morning asphalt in this rhythm, warmed by the sun and strangers' footsteps. That very youth where dreams were higher than houses and poverty was just background noise. It seemed like everyone had scattered, some sat down, some broke free, but inside, the same street remained - with hoarse laughter, promises on the bench, and the eternal "just a little more, and life will begin." Now the bass is thumping, reflecting off the metal of an expensive BMW, but underneath it's the same melancholy - for those who didn't make it, for my younger self when there was no Spotify, but there was a reason to wait for messages and a reason to run. Between the lines, there's adult gratitude and quiet guilt: for surviving, but not forgetting. And for the fact that all those "uh nanas" aren't just a chorus, but a way of saying to the world: we're still here.