Some days, I stumble on the edge of hope, and the ground feels softer than I expected— less a fall, more a gentle slide into what I didn’t quite know I was carrying.
Failure doesn’t shout; it whispers softly, a quiet reminder that even broken things can find a way to hold light again. It’s in the small cracks where new words grow.
I’ve learned to greet my mistakes like old friends who’ve stayed too long— not to turn away, but to listen and see what they want to teach me.
Life is a series of imperfect attempts, each one a step—sometimes stumbling, sometimes standing still, but always moving, always learning.
And in the end, failure is just the soil where resilience takes root, the quiet, patient ground that makes space for something new.
