Maybe I’m no longer a fighter,
No longer burning with the will to try.
The fire that once lit up my path,
Now flickers low beneath a quiet sky.

So here I stand, not with rage, but grace,
Laying down my arms, letting go.
Sometimes, maturity means stepping back,
And letting love and light in others flow.

I’ve watched them gather in their golden hours,
With smiles they never saved for me.
And I’ve grown used to fading out,
In the shadow of who they think I’ll always be.

They forget the good, the soft, the kind,
But my flaws, they hold like sacred stones.
And though it breaks a part of me,
I leave them to their joy, alone.

No bitterness, just a quiet sigh,
It is what it is, and I know now.
The past can rest; my hands are free,
I whisper nothing more than... Ciao