When I was young, life seemed like an open sky,
endless and blue, gentle as a whisper,
with sunlit mornings, warm and golden,
and nights that folded softly, never too dark.
Back then, we believed in heroes, in kindness,
in happy families, in laughter
that spilled freely across the dinner table,
in parents who kept us safe, tucked in tight,
shielded from storms, untouched by the worldās weight.
But now, with eyes open wide,
I see the jagged lines,
the fractures hidden behind closed doors,
the rot thatās seeped into every corner,
of homes, of hearts, of the earth itself.
I see a world teeming with cruelty,
where broken things are shrugged off,
where pain is passed around like an old family heirloom,
where wrong is worn like a second skin,
something weāve all grown used to, too tired to shed.
So many are hollow, hiding unseen scars,
walking through days that cut deeper than weād admit,
haunted by what the world took from them,
hearts shattered, lives upturned, faith crumbled into dust.
Once, I thought love was unbreakable,
that families held tight through the years,
but Iāve watched the vows unravel,
seen love grow tired, thin as paper,
and trust fracture into tiny shards
that can never be pieced back together.
Mental battles rage in silence,
quiet wars fought in the shadows,
the weight of it all hidden behind polite smiles,
as we march on, as if nothing is wrong,
as if we arenāt bleeding beneath these layers
of what we show, of what we hide.
Itās as if the world itself has turned,
into something sharp-edged, unforgiving,
like weāre all just ghosts haunting each other,
too afraid to ask if weāre all this broken.
I remember a time, or maybe I imagine itā
when life was simpler, softer,
when even the wind seemed gentler,
and our dreams felt safe in our hands.
Was it real, that time before I knew
how people could hurt, could betray, could destroy?
Or was I shielded by the naivety of youth,
by some shield that faded as I grew?
Maybe the world was always like this,
a place that tears at the seams,
but I was wrapped in a bubble, too young to understand,
too innocent to see the cracks in the fabric.
Or maybe itās the world thatās changed,
grown crueler, colder, hungry for pain.
Yet somewhere, deep in the shadows,
something small still whispers,
that not all light has been swallowed,
that thereās goodness hidden in pockets, in people,
a kindness that survives despite the ruin,
a hope that flickers, even as darkness swarms.
Iāve felt it, in the gentle touch of a friend,
in the warmth of a strangerās kindness,
in moments so fleeting theyāre almost forgottenā
but theyāre there, small sparks that remind me
of a world not entirely lost, of hearts that still beat soft.
Maybe itās foolish to hold to this hope,
to believe that something better remains,
but I canāt let go of it, not yet,
because if Iāve seen the good, if Iāve felt it,
then maybe others can too,
maybe it can spread, like a quiet rebellion,
maybe it can grow stronger than the hurt,
maybe it can heal us all, if only we let it.
I want to believe that life isnāt this cruel,
that the beauty I once saw wasnāt a lie,
that beneath this worldās scars and shadows,
thereās a place where love, kindness, and grace
still take root, grow tall, and reach toward the sun.
And maybe, just maybe, if we hold on tight,
if we spread what goodness we have left,
the world can find its way back,
before the darkness takes it all.