Maybe

Maybe it's not about the things I expect to come.
Maybe it's not always those dreamy, gleaming moments that only exist in the fairy tales.
Maybe I've just been delusional—illusional, thinking I could reach for impossible.
Maybe all the things I called my favourites were never meant for someone like me.
The things I believe I could have, might be the things I was never meant to hold.

Now I know.
Now I've realized—I can't force the world to align with my will,
or expect life to bend to the shape of my hopes.
I've been selfish, thinking that everything should be perfect—thinking only I deserve the best of it all.

Had the guts to complain and demand, without ever looking in front of the mirror.
The audacity to find someone perfect enough to fill the void I couldn't even fill myself.

Who am I to receive?
I can't even hear my own voice.

Do I deserve a gold,
If I never dug deep enough or gave enough effort to find it?
No.
Not at all.

Not a single fragment belongs to a man who can't endure whatever it takes to earn it.