nandini00
Active Ranker
We break. This is a fact.
Not because we are weak or small,
but because even the stars above
must explode to become memory.
Light does not enter gently.
It tears through the waiting dark,
burns its own body in the process,
and still chooses to be seen.
I have learned this much:
collapse is not always failure.
Sometimes breaking is the doorway
to the person we must become.
The sun dies every evening,
falling quietly into the dusk,
yet no one calls that defeat—
they call it beautiful instead.
So let me shatter if I must.
Let my old self fall away,
like constellations fading softly
when morning remembers the sky.
Let people call it ruin.
I will call it rebirth instead.
For ashes have always been honest,
and fire never lies about light.
Not because we are weak or small,
but because even the stars above
must explode to become memory.
Light does not enter gently.
It tears through the waiting dark,
burns its own body in the process,
and still chooses to be seen.
I have learned this much:
collapse is not always failure.
Sometimes breaking is the doorway
to the person we must become.
The sun dies every evening,
falling quietly into the dusk,
yet no one calls that defeat—
they call it beautiful instead.
So let me shatter if I must.
Let my old self fall away,
like constellations fading softly
when morning remembers the sky.
Let people call it ruin.
I will call it rebirth instead.
For ashes have always been honest,
and fire never lies about light.
