Dawn Breaks. Rewind the End Credits.

2 AM. Every time the automatic doors of a fluorescent convenience store slide open, there's a sound of something sold out. In this place too impure to wait for anyone, where the smell of oil lingers in the air, we're scrolling through our timelines again, searching for answers.
Tap "like," close the app, open it again. Fingers repeating without meaning. While pretending to be smart, waiting for something to unlock above our heads, we try to escape with the convenient spell called "I'm fine." That kind of end credits.
But something's ringing in the distance.
Even if you cover your ears, that rhythm pounding against your heart can't lie.
-Can we still go on?
From beginning to end, it might all be someone else's playlist. But still, we say: Not ending this yet. We keep dancing, broken as we are. Tagging our reasons for tears, updating this mistaken night. Until the day when light sweeps everything away with "good job," we'll keep walking.
Pretend to be strong, log out. Weakness doesn't disappear. In this city obsessed with winning and losing, "rightness" is measured by volume, and quiet kindness is always out of range. Still, there you are, trembling in a place no one can find.
The controller you threw away saying "I'm done." Beyond it, a presence that's been standing there all along.
It's still too early to give up.
The first and final morning comes, like a promise. Something that still embraces us, our habit of giving up, with exasperation. It doesn't say "it wasn't meaningless," but a voice saying "I've been watching" brings breath back.
A city where the beautiful ones leave first. My seat won't open up. But there's a noise that only scarred ears can hear. More certain than the sweet words "you're fine as you are"-a premonition of "the end."
Beyond where everything ended, a morning no one knows arrives.
If you say "I've been watching," then I'll stick around a bit longer.
Not ending this yet. Don't you dare end it on your own.
Keep dancing, broken as we are, until the very end.
Disappearing like this would just piss me off anyway.

Night fades away. Tears dry up. They cease to mean anything.
Someone's calling.
But maybe it's just my imagination.
(And that's fine.)

Concept
A story of us, living amid urban loneliness and digital noise.
Not perfect. Broken. But that's exactly why there's a melody we can hear.
Scrolling timelines with our fingers, measuring worth by "likes," just tracing someone else's scenario every day. Pretending to be strong, hiding weakness, logging out repeatedly. In this battlefield obsessed with winning and losing, quiet kindness is always out of range.
Still, there you are, trembling. In a place no one can find.
Something that still embraces us with our habit of giving up, with exasperation. It doesn't say "it wasn't meaningless," but there's just that voice: "I've been watching."
Accepting the end, yet not ending it. Holding contradictory emotions, rewinding this night just a little longer.
Dawn breaks. That's an unavoidable fact.
But rewind the end credits. That's our will.