I dreamt of halls where minds would grow,
Of distant paths I longed to know.
I carried hopes through sleepless nights,
Believing effort would make things right.

I studied hard, I gave my best,
Endured the doubts, outworked the rest.
I sent my dreams in ink and prayer,
Certain that someone, somewhere, would care.

But letters came with words so cold,
Polite refusals, neatly told.
Years of longing disappeared,
Reduced to “We regret…” and tears.

I watched my peers move on ahead,
While all my aspirations bled.
Their futures opened, bright and wide;
Mine quietly withered inside.

I once believed that prayers could heal,
That faith and perseverance were real.
Yet silence answered every plea,
And hope became a memory.

The hardest part is not rejection,
Nor bearing disappointment’s weight.
It is mourning the life imagined—
A future lost before its date.

So I return to where I stand,
An empty letter in my hand.
Smiling still, as people do,
While carrying a sorrow few can view.

For some dreams die without a sound,
No final words, no sacred ground.
Only a heart, worn thin with care,
And nothing left but quiet despair.