Hues

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Of shadows and stars

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Your diary spoke in haunted tones..  “People stumble on boulders, not on stones,”   A profound truth, a silent plea,   For strength to face what the eyes can’t see. The world beheld your shining grace,   A future vast, a boundless space.   Doused in distress, the soul tossed, Within the weight of a purpose lost. Achievements tall, like mountains climbed,   Yet shadows crept in a mind unprimed. The battles fought within the mind,   Left scars unseen, too deep to find. For even stars that burn so bright,   Sometimes fade into the night.   But memories and love remain,   A gentle balm for silent pain. Rest now, where peace is found,   Beyond the boulders that weigh us down.  Your light, though dimmed, will always gleam A whispered hope, a cherished dream. _-_-_
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REBELLION, but in soft blur

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I was never meant to stay whole... not in a world that survives by taking. This is a time that uses people quickly and moves on without looking back. It asks for patience, effort, care, and offers little shelter in return.  Being useful here is a pain. It wears you down, leaves you tired in places others cannot reach, teaches you how easily kindness is mistaken for availability. The hurt is real. It comes from being relied upon but not protected, from giving steadily while learning how disposable that giving can be. And yet, choosing to keep meaning and purpose alive is Rebellion. Not hardening. Not becoming cruel in return. But refusing to let harm decide who you become. Time thins us. Experience scars us. But the tear is where the light pass through. So if something still shines after being used, it is not weakness..it is endurance. In the present world, beauty is not in staying untouched. It is in being hurt, healing slowly, and still allowing yourself to glow. >_< 
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Error: Perfect.

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The most intricate braid that only lives until its untied The delicate froth of coffee that still lingers on the emptied cup That one loud friend of the protagonist - blurred, muted, and scooted aside in moments that matter the most. The liked but never chosen one; the one that's too much or just not enough. The unwavering slope between the peaks and the trough. The best that's never bought.. The unsaid that's never sought.. Has to be mere luck or sheer randomness, Or a biased God who made this mess. Why else would the sun give its light to the moon  just to be loathed for its extremeness? -_-
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