Each stumble teaches
what smooth paths never could,
the texture of grit,
the echo of “almost,”
the art of rising.

Failure is not the opposite of success.
It is the scaffolding beneath it,
the blueprint drawn in smudged ink,
the rehearsal where courage
learns its lines.

We fall,
we bruise,
we learn the weight of our own longing,
and still,
we step again.

Because every failure
is a door ajar,
a lesson mid-bloom,
a whisper that says:
not yet, but soon.