He sits on the cold pavement,
back against the world,
eyes lost in a sky too vast,
too indifferent to a boy
who once dreamed of touching it.

The cigarette flickers between his fingers,
a quiet rebellion, a silent scream.
Smoke coils like memories—
of failures, of love lost,
of roads that led nowhere.

Maybe this is all there is—
a tired soul, an empty night,
a battle no one sees.

Then, a voice—soft yet firm.
"Got a light?"

He looks up, startled.
A stranger, wrapped in the wind,
eyes carrying storms of their own.

"You look like a man
who’s been running from himself,"
the stranger says, lighting his own cigarette.
"But the thing about running—
it never gets you anywhere."

A pause. A knowing glance.
"Maybe it’s time you walked instead."

The words settle like embers in his chest.
For the first time in a long time,
he exhales without regret.

The cigarette burns,
but tonight, so does something else—
a spark, a reason.

He stands up,
dusts off the weight of yesterday,
and starts walking forward

In a world where joy and sorrow blend,  
We wear our smiles, though hearts may bend.  
The laughter fades, and shadows creep,  
A heavy burden that we all must keep.

In moments where the heart should soar,  
Instead, we feel a quiet war.  
The joy that once filled up our days,  
Now leaves us lost in a dismal haze.

We reach out, hoping to be heard,  
But find no comfort in a word.  
Alone, we craft a mask of cheer,  
To hide the pain, to mask the fear.

Yet deep within, we all the same,  
Carry wounds that have no name.  
In this silent, shared despair,  
Know that you're not alone out there.