Forte e chiaro

It's as if someone grew up too fast, not because they wanted to, but because they had no other choice. Yesterday he was still standing by the school fence with a ball, today he's juggling fear, fate, and a couple of bills that still don't fill the emptiness. The city presses down with its concrete shoulders, but from beneath them, a fierce determination still breaks thru – the very thing that keeps you from falling, even when you're shaking with exhaustion. The music smells like asphalt after rain and hands reeking of cigarets and pretend victories. Each blow is a reminder that you pay for every step not with money, but with time, nerves, and sometimes friends. But there's a strange beauty in that too, when you survive out of spite, when you're standing on the edge of an abyss on shaky legs and still looking up.