I was born a dreamer,
seeing the world through sunlit glass,
believing in knights who slay dragons,
in comrades who fight back to back,
in friends who keep secrets like coins in a palm,
in someone who sees beauty the way I do.

But life leaned close and whispered loss,
its breath a weight on my chest.
The light grew thin—
and I slipped into a well of silence.

I waited for rescue:
a brave knight,
a steadfast comrade,
a loyal friend.
But the world moved past,
its footsteps fading like rain.

Then came the choice:
sink, or climb.

So, hand over hand,
I learned the rough rhythm of stone,
found music in the scrape and strain.
I learned to face dragons,
to keep my own counsel,
to make beauty that no one names.

Now I stand at the rim,
palms scarred,
heart steady,
sunlight spilling through the storm.
No wind beneath me—
but still, I fly.