In the quiet chambers of a hopeful heart,
A man stands, battle-worn, playing his part.
He wears scars of countless rejections,
Yet clings to dreams of love’s sweet connections.
Each rejection a dagger, sharp and cold,
Piercing through armor, making him bold.
He approaches with trembling hands,
Offers his heart, like grains of sand.
The first rejection stung, left a mark,
But he brushed it off, continued his spark.
The second, a deeper wound, a sigh,
Yet he pressed on, reaching for the sky.
The third, fourth, fifth—like falling stars,
He gathered them all, kept them in jars.
Each ”no” etched into his very bones,
Yet he danced with hope, despite the groans.
He learned to smile through the ache,
To mend his heart when it threatened to break.
He polished his courage, wore it like a cloak,
And faced rejection’s tempest, never spoke.
The sixth, seventh, eighth—like thunderclaps,
He wondered if love was just a trap.
But still, he knocked on doors, whispered names,
Hoping one day they’d echo back in flames.
The nights grew longer, the moon a witness,
As he stumbled through the labyrinth of loneliness.
He counted the stars, each one a missed chance,
And wondered if love was merely happenstance.
Yet, in the quiet moments before dawn,
He glimpsed a fragile hope reborn.
For love, like a stubborn seed in winter’s frost,
Refused to die, no matter the cost.
So, he walked on, bruised but unyielding,
Through valleys of silence, past wounds unhealing.
For the heart that seeks love, no matter the strife,
Is a hero in the epic tale of life.
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