The Forgotten Roads Within

We walk on roads no one remembers,

Streets paved with our silent dreams,

Carrying hopes like fragile lanterns,

Flickering, yet refusing to fade.

In the crowd, we smile as strangers,

But inside—our souls whisper stories,

Of promises lost, of mornings never born,

Of the love that slipped like sand through trembling hands.

Life is not a straight line—

It bends, it breaks, it bruises.

And yet, like trees in winter,

We hold our roots firm in frozen soil.

Every scar we carry is not defeat,

It is a map—

A reminder of battles fought,

Of nights endured without a flame.

There are moments the world forgets—

The child who laughs through hunger,

The mother who hides her tears at dusk,

The friend who smiles while breaking inside.

These are not tragedies.

They are truths.

And truths, like rivers,

Flow until they carve valleys into stone.

So when the world turns away,

And your voice feels like a whisper swallowed by wind,

Remember—

You are not your silence,

You are not your pain.

You are the story still being written

On the canvas of tomorrow’s dawn.

And in that dawn,

Your name will not be forgotten.