Wrong Love

Wrong love begins like any other dream, sweet as dawn and heavy with promise. It wears the face of destiny for a while, until the truth trembles beneath its smile.

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Wrong love speaks in borrowed tones, echoes of need mistaken for grace. It burns too fast, too bright, too near, leaving ashes shaped like longing.

Wrong love teaches through breaking, its lessons carved in silence and tears. It shows the heart what not to follow, and what it means to finally see.

Wrong love is not wasted, only weary, for even pain refines what it touches. From its ruin, gentler truths are born— the heart learns what right love is.

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