https://image.nostr.build/4ee2b3d492e560a15e3a6139b68aec63884e5a5e801371033035e68897bbd790.jpg
we crowned ourselves a golden play,
a perfect script, a flawless sway,
beneath the lights of borrowed glow
where fragile egos steal the show.

but tempests came with honest hands,
unmasking truth we’d never planned
breakups like thunder split the sky,
pride laid bare its quiet lie.

the mirror fell in silver rain,
each shard a whisper edged with pain
and in its ruthless, lucid gleam
we faced the selves we’d dressed in dream.

what once was pleasure—bright, but brief
proved light as dust on autumn leaf
it could not touch the deeper flame
no storm nor sorrow yet could tame.

we learned that joy is not applause,
nor polished masks nor vain because
it lives where quiet courage grows,
where truth stands naked, yet still glows.

so rise from ruin, soft but strong,
let broken notes remake your song
for pain, though fierce, is not your end
it is the fire that helps you mend.