#11 precisely cut

“We can finally save the world.”

It’s ironic that we both said the same,
yet meant not.

He came from a family too broken,
yet held himself together with a smile—always.
I, unbroken yet estranged,
as if never meant to be—yet still laughing.

Though the world seems cruel—truly so,
both of us carried on
with masks and voices that weren’t ours.

Bruises, harsh words, open wounds—
traumas, unloved—
this was our life.

Even so, we dreamed big dreams.
For both of us.

And when chance arrived—
the stroke of luck, the opportunity
we never thought possible—
it happened.

Our eyes meet—
two distinct, mirrored reflections.

We never really meant the same.
Oh! The irony—we dreamed alike,
but woke on opposite sides of the bed,
feeling worlds apart.

“Finally, we can save the world.”

But in the first place,
why would we even—
when this world never—

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