"The Man Who Never Finishes Becoming Worthy"There are men who are not born to be owned,
but to be regretted.
Men who do not come to bring comfort,
but to deliver wounds in the gentlest way:
through attention that grips like an unseen chain,
through love that grows from the root of fear,
not from the soil of certainty.This man does not refuse to be good.
He simply never knew how to do it
without hurting himself.
Every day he stands before the mirror,
seeing his own reflection like shattered glass—
its fragments arranging a whole figure on the outside,
yet broken into pieces within.He once made a promise:
"I will be the best for you."
But the universe knew it was only a soothing spell,
spoken by someone who could not even heal himself.
The best version he promised
turned out to be nothing but the ghost of a hope
that was hung too often,
and now rots on the ceiling of a fogged mind.That his every step only added wounds,
that his very presence was a failure
endlessly prolonged.His love was not a rainbow after the rain,
but a storm that knew no end.
He loved not with open hands,
but with trembling fingers,
afraid of losing even before he could hold on.This man walked between two poles:
wanting to bring happiness, yet fearing blame.
Wanting to stay, yet convinced
he was never worth the fight.
And in the end,
he killed himself slowly—
not with blood,
but with guilt nurtured day after day,
until it grew into a monster
gnawing at his sanity from within.He was not left because he lacked love,
but because he sowed too many wounds while whispering,
"I’m just afraid of losing you."
There is nothing sadder than someone who loves
in a way that was never asked for.And among all the men in this world,
perhaps this is the loneliest kind:
whose love is vast,
yet always misdirected.
Whose soul is fragile,
yet keeps trying to carry the world.
Who longs to be everything,
but does not even know how to be someone.This man lives with a heart beating
like the drums of war,
struck every moment
by unreasonable fears.
He loves like an earthquake:
unforeseen, shaking,
and leaving ruins in the hearts of those too near.He thinks of everything,
he worries about every possibility,
until what he gives is not comfort, but exhaustion—
creeping silently like a disease unseen on X-rays.Every night, he embraces shadows of loss,
conversing with scenarios that never happened,
yet he believes in them
as if they were scripture descended from the sky:
that he will be abandoned,
that he will never be enough,
that the love he gives
only makes the beloved wish to run away faster.Yet all he ever wanted was simple:
to sit beside someone
without feeling he must be more than he is.
But he is haunted by his own thoughts,
whispering every moment
that his very presence is a burden.-B.

Lens Protocol keeps saying it’s infrastructure-first. Fine.
But infrastructure without clear alignment eventually bleeds users.The graph is live.
Apps are built.
Users post, connect, and contribute real data.Yet there’s still no explicit ownership layer beyond NFTs.
No token tied to the social graph.
No concrete path for early contributors to capture upside.GHO doesn’t solve this.
GHO is Aave’s stablecoin, not Lens alignment.So right now, Lens benefits from:• user activity
• developer effort
• ecosystem growthwhile users are asked to stay patient on faith alone.That’s the problem.Infrastructure-first only works if the timeline is communicated.
Silence turns patience into fatigue.Lens still has an edge: real usage and real composability.
But if alignment keeps getting deferred, the graph risks becoming valuable for apps, not for the people who built it.The window is still open.
It just isn’t infinite anymore.🙏🙏

f

Does anyone know what animal this is?

hi everyone 👋

where do i see the source?

There is a belief that being too kind and caring is a crime against oneself.

I like ducks 😡

Life keeps moving,
but it doesn’t really go anywhere.
Like a clock on the wall,
ticking without ever being asked why.Days feel like “just that.”
Wake up. Work. Endure.
Sleep with the same tired body
and a hope that keeps thinning out.Someone is gone.
Not just leaving
but torn away.
The one who used to be the reason to come home
is now only a name
spoken carefully, if at all.Loss isn’t dramatic.
It arrives as a new routine:
no messages,
no voice,
no place to lay down your failures.We work just as hard.
Sweat hits the same ground.
Sleep is just as scarce.
Yet the outcomes are never equal.Not because of laziness.
Not because of a lack of will.
But because some are born with ladders,
while others are told to climb bare walls.Having no privilege means
every mistake is expensive,
every pause is questioned,
every dream must be justified
as if it were a crime.I’m not jealous.
I’m just tired of explaining
why running doesn’t always
close the distance.Life feels “just okay”
not because there’s no dream,
but because dreams are paid for
with loss,
loneliness,
and a patience that’s never applauded.If I’m still standing today,
it’s not because I’m strong
it’s because giving up
turns out to be even more exhausting.

We hope so 🥹