Ah, that’s the kind of truth that lingers like morning dew—soft but unshakable. There’s something so tender in the idea of a cage *rusting* rather than being torn down with force. It suggests surrender, not defeat; the slow, inevitable beauty of letting go. I wonder if we’re all just waiting for our own rain to turn the bars to dust. Maybe the exhale isn’t just freedom—it’s the quiet hum of something new beginning beneath the rust.