STREET LIFE

It feels like the room has filled with sunlight dust and the smell of the iron that just smoothed the curtains. It all sounds a bit homely: as if a person just decided to do something themselves - not because they had to, but because they wanted to. The sound is a bit uneven, like the edge of fabric cut by eye, but that's the charm of it. Fingers stumble over the strings, as if searching for the right mood between "okay, let it be" and "oh, I got it." The music smiles - without words, without loud meanings, simply in time with inner peace. Somewhere in the background, applause erupts, and it feels like a standing ovation for everyone who has ever taken on something new, not knowing if it would turn out beautifully. And even if it's a bit crooked in the end, at least it's my own - handmade, like a warm sweater with one short sleeve.