"We move with the flow, like leaves swept by the winter wind— rooted yet stripped, alive but forgotten. You didn’t ask permission to hurt us, so how dare you dictate when we should stop aching? Forgiveness comes, but forgetting remains a parallel line, distant, unreachable. We were prey to your charm, hunted and claimed, but love—real love—was never your intention. Still, we live, we endure, we exist, in a world where happiness feels like a fleeting season never meant to last."