Ağrılar Dolu

The hum of the streets here sounds like the soundtrack to fatigue, hardened in the asphalt. Everything around is noisy, sticky, dusty, but alive. A world where every step is weighed down, where ‘hang in there’ has long been the rule, and self-irony is the only way to stay sane. A simple truth hangs in the air: no one is obliged to be a hero, but it is better to stand tall than to fall beautifully.

Words fall dryly, like cigarette ash, but between them 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 scenery.