Is peace a failure?

Someone asked me a question once.

A question that just didn’t whisper, didn’t shout…

It did both.

A question that clung to my skin:

“Do you think… You get comfortable with failure?”

I froze.

The words cracked something in me.

Like glass in slow motion.

A stranger,

just someone I had met weeks ago,

looked me in the eye

and dropped that weight on my chest.

“Why? Why did you ask me that?”

I wanted to know.

He said:

“You are too peaceful.”

Too peaceful?

Since when did peace sound like an insult?

Since when did silence feel like chains?

But again, my lips betrayed me,

and asked the question again:

“Why?”

And he said:

“Because you take everything thrown at you

without a fight.

You just… take it.”

And in that moment,

His words became the broken glass.

And I saw myself in them.

Not peaceful,

just… quiet.

Quiet like burned out fire,

quiet like swallowed screams,

quiet like a crown that forgot

It was born to rule.