Little by Little

The world is once again demanding to be perfectly neat, without scratches or doubts. And then, as soon as you turn away, he whispers, "Oh, come on, that's good enough." Between these extremes, someone is trying not to fall, clinging to the remnants of dreams while life slowly unscrews the bolts from their own bicycle. Everything was supposed to work out: freedom, fulfilled wishes, adulthood, but the wheels creak betrayingly, and it becomes awkward because you don't know why you even drove here. And yet, there's a strange comfort in this: imperfection turns out to be the only honest state. Even if God woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.