Let’s build bridges over the river of tears,
Let’s sow tomorrow in empty places.
Let the wind carry dreams far away,
A new world is born in our hearts.

Fate and time are in our hands,
The earth changes when I change.
When the light in our eyes has faded somewhere,
Let’s ignite a new flame in our hearts.

The morning spills through the cracked window,
soft gold brushing against tired skin.
Eyes blink open—not heavy, not lost,
but lighter, as if the night
left with the smoke of yesterday.

No rush, no dread—just breath.
A stretch, a pause, the quiet hum
of a world still turning,
and for the first time in a while,
he wants to turn with it.

The phone buzzes. A name on the screen—
Dad.

He hesitates, then answers.
A familiar voice, steady, warm.
"Son, I just wanted to say... I believe in you."

A lump in his throat,
not of sadness, but something softer—
a thread pulling him back home,
back to himself.

He stands, looks in the mirror.
Not a lost boy, not a failure—
just a man, still walking, still trying.

The city hums as he steps out,
the weight of yesterday left behind.
A crisp shirt, a quiet smile,
the rhythm of feet moving forward.

A new day.
A new fight.
And this time,
he knows he’s not alone.

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