Welcome—
to the museum of failure.
Or maybe…
the gallery of trying.

I could paint these walls
with every fall I’ve had.
Brushstrokes of regret,
drips of effort,
frames full of almosts
and maybe-next-times.

Is this happiness?
Or just a well-dressed lie?
A glossy illusion
sold in soft tones and silence.

I sit between these walls—
they call it life.
One side a broken dream,
the other, a fragile joy
held together
by the glue of persistence.

A harbor of love,
but just beyond—
an ocean of death,
deep,
dark,
unfathomable.

A man…
is supposed to be both.
Anchor and storm.
Soft heart, steel face.
They won’t ask how you feel.
They won’t listen when you speak.
They just follow
wherever mind and heart dare to go.

And maybe—
maybe the smaller your world becomes,
the more peaceful life feels.

This is the story of a boy—
just trying to find the light.
Maybe Ishaan from Taare Zameen Par,
you could say.

His words never stuck.
The meanings slipped through.
Each sentence a mountain
in the fog of anxiety.
Trying, always trying
to make sense of it all.

Maybe he knew—
deep down—
he wasn’t good enough.
Still,
he stood up.
Again.
And again.

In his own world,
he was the hero.

Have you not noticed?

You—
yes, you—
have become
the version of yourself
that could have saved the child you once were.

You built the hero
you always needed.

And this story?
It doesn’t end here.

It lives.
It breathes.
It goes on.