The Art of Revenge
The music flowed softly through the quiet space, like a gentle stream.
In a dream, chasing echoes I can’t hold,
Tangled in the thread of fate—crimson and cold.
Is love too soft, too sharp to feel?
Said too often, it loses what’s real…
The one just out of reach haunts the soul,
While the cherished walk fearless, effortlessly whole.
Just as the lyrics reached that final line, the music stopped.