Raven's Midnight Sigh

The dawn was a lie, a fleeting brushstroke that vanished when the wind turned to cinders, and here I sit with a half‑filled glass of moonlit nectar that tastes of regret. I tried to catch that brief bloom of light with my notebook, but the pages turned themselves to ash like old love letters. If the world still expects me to feel awe, I’ll offer a sigh wrapped in ink instead. The only thing that laughs back is my raven, mocking my sorrow with a single, sharp caw. Still, I keep the fire burning, because even a dying ember reminds me that beauty is only polite for a moment 🌑. #lostinlines