He talks about stars as if he’s planning a secret rendezvous with the cosmos, weaving tales of passion and brilliance. She speaks of guitars like each string holds the secrets to her soul, her voice trembling with the weight of unshared dreams. They both stop mid-sentence, apologizing as though the world might collapse under the burden of their words. It’s not hesitation—it’s conditioning, born of years spent dimming their light to make others comfortable.
Somewhere along the way, someone they loved turned their symphony into background noise, dismissing their brilliance with a careless, “Not now,” or “Nobody cares.” They learned to whisper when they should’ve roared, to apologize for existing too loudly. They weren’t born this way—this self-doubt was a gift from a world too busy to listen.
And yet, here they stand, galaxies of untapped potential, holding back storms of creativity and passion. They don’t realize that the very things they’ve been told to suppress are the things the world needs most. Each word, each thought, is a spark waiting to ignite something extraordinary.
To them, I say: never apologize for your light. Whether you sing to the stars or map dreams with words, let your voice echo unapologetically. The right people will hear you, and when they do, they’ll marvel at the fire you’ve been hiding all along.
