NEPHART.COM

I don’t sell dreams anymore.

Not because I’m honest now.

Because I’m empty of pretending.

People don’t buy dreams.

They buy distance from their lives.

And I was a good dealer once.

What I sold as truth

was nothing.

Just lies stacked neatly,

wrapped in confidence,

paid for with my sleep.

It worked.

That’s the worst part.

It worked.

The pain I carry?

That’s expensive merchandise.

Showing it feels like standing naked

in a room that only knows how to stare.

So I locked it away.

Not out of fear.

Out of care.

Some things aren’t hidden because they’re ugly.

Some things are hidden

because they’re still alive.

Now I’m looking for a place

where a heart isn’t a liability.

They say there’s no market for that.

They say sincerity doesn’t scale.

They say survival needs performance.

Maybe they’re right.

I just want one soul

that keeps time with my pulse,

doesn’t ask me to hurry my healing,

doesn’t confuse my silence

for absence.

Maybe I’ll sell dreams again.

But not shiny ones.

Not the kind that promise arrival.

Just something honest enough

to stand on.

Feet shaking.

Heart exposed.

If it sells, fine.

If not…..

I’ll still be standing.