every morning,
a parade of perfect lives,
smiles meticulously adjusted,
breakfast that looks more like a work of art,
but deep down,
it's just granola and a desperate hunt for likes.

people transform into characters,
each post a script,
each photo a scene,
life in shining squares
where reality dissolves like sugar in water.

hashtags dance on the screen,
like confetti at a birthday ...

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Ah, to suffer,
is not just an invisible burden
that we drag through the streets of life.
It is the mark, the scar,
of existence that shapes us.

To suffer is the pain
that teaches us to see the world
with weary eyes,
where reality is not a straight line
but a labyrinth of thorns and hopes.

In the deep silence of the night,
where the moon whispers secrets of pain,
we find the echo of...

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