The Truth About Tigers

Flipping through the journal
feels like trespassing—
a dead man’s thoughts,
ink pressed into pages
by a boy I barely recognize.

His doubts, his defiance,
once sharp as broken glass,
now dulled by time,
familiar yet distant,
like echoes in an empty hall.

The words, once urgent,
now relics of a mind reaching,
believing memory alone
wasn’t enough to hold their weight.