シャトレーゼやめた

Chocolate on your fingers, the smell of whipped cream, and a slight feeling of guilt for the uneaten pieces of cake – all of this dissolves in the beat like sugar in coffee. Yesterday's apron is hanging on a nail, and instead of a change of clothes, there's a microphone and a plan for a life without receipts or bosses. It's funny how quickly a sweet shop turns into a launchpad for dreams: a little audacity, a little weariness, and a lot of faith that rhymes can feed just as well as a strawberry biscuit. The music sounds like liberation after a long shift, a little sticky with chocolate, but genuine and fresh, like the first breath outside of work hours. You can hear the cellophane of her past life rustling in every word, and how she now quietly closes the refrigerator door, making way for the new one, where ambition is served instead of cake, and applause instead of an order.