Pain reshapes, but never fades, Like rivers carved in ancient stone. What breaks may bend, but never stays— It learns to rise and stand alone.

We carry cracks, our golden seams, That mark the battles we have won. Each scar a thread through fractured dreams, Yet gleaming brighter than the sun.

The weight of loss can crush the soul, But wounds can bloom where sorrow bled. For every piece that’s left unwhole Can wear the gold of hope instead.

So fight for love—its flame will glow In shattered glass and scattered dust. No moment lost, no step too slow, When strength is built on broken trust.

You are the art of what remains— Not bound by ruin, but remade. Like kintsugi, through joy and pain, You rise—unbroken, gold-inlaid.