I'm not crying, don't be ridiculous. It's just the sharp scent of lemons in the air, you see.

Like a sour little warning of what this mess has done to me.

The ambition was pure, the start was truly bright,

Then it sank like a bad bet in the middle of the night.

We made these fragile paper boats, filled with creative dreams,

Launched them on a puddle of little, salty tears and schemes.

And naturally, they capsized. Because life is not a soft-focus film.

I don't vibe with superficially ambitious people, or a project doomed to the helm.

I value the emotional connection, the meaningful conversation,

Not this damp, acidic failure that requires this much explanation.

The tears are for the wasted effort, a dark, humorous sigh.

It's all wet paper now. Seriously, dry your eyes.