When I was a child, I was happy. Life felt simple, like a bright morning where nothing could go wrong. But as I grew up, sadness found its way in. Was my happiness a lie, or is this sadness the truth?
I wanted time with someone, moments to hold on to. But now, I am far from her. Distance is a cruel thing—was the connection real, or was it always meant to fade?
I wanted to love someone, but only she left me. The ones who stayed are the ones who never really mattered. Is love the truth, or is it just another lie we tell ourselves?
I tried to make a relationship stronger, but the same relationship broke. If it was meant to be, why did it fall apart? If it wasn’t, then why did it feel so real?
I wanted to live a happy life, but am I really living? Or just surviving, pretending that this is what life is supposed to be?
So, what is the truth? Is life what we dream of, or what we are forced to accept? Is it what we chase or what we lose? Maybe truth isn’t something we find—it’s something we question, over and over again.
Note: The images used in this blog are #AI generated.