Like a Flower

Sometimes you want to be a rose, but you end up being a dandelion between the tiles. Not glamorous, but real. The world around is buzzing, sparkling, driving its thorns into those who didn't have time to put on their armour. And somewhere in a street corner, under a neon sign and a tired sky, a small, clumsy flower blooms - not for likes, not for admiration, just because it's alive. Here, pain isn't dramatised – it's experienced to the rhythm of beats. Small splinters turn into big challenges, but even in them there is a glimmer: a chance to grow without losing your roots. Even goodbye sounds like an upgrade, and loneliness feels like a stage before the next act. And even if no one remembers the name - what matters is something else. That somewhere on the cold asphalt, a story had already begun. Humble, resilient, like a stem that grew through concrete and simply called itself: a flower without a name.