# With each new exchange shuttered, Bitcoin's love is Strengthen’d, Though More Weak In Seeming!
*We don't love Bitcoin any less, no matter how many exchanges fall -- 1BTC still =s' 1 BTC!*

![Screenshot 2022-11-29 at 9.12.24 PM.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/coininstant/23xATuwpCatb5SN7ZEDgCSeRHrxJNxUcFSq7Tw3Espxw6jQAbCPqdGRjeKCoK2tnH4w4Q.png)
 *If it doesn't kill Bitcoin, it only makes it stronger!*

#### This week it was Bitfront, and Blockfi, last week it was the collapse of the FTX Goliath taking center stage of Crypto Apocolypse Now. Earlier this year we had Voyager Digital, preceded by Terra Luna, and the list goes on as the boneyard of dead exchanges fills the neverending void of man's greed and future demise.

What do all these exchanges have in common? Every single one of them was a centralized entity with products widely advertised as "Going to the Moon!" These exchanges hit us while our love for crypto was new & only in its spring. Now Crypto Winter is here, far after Bitcoin's Nightingale has stopped its singing & migrated to the African tropics, & there is not a peep left except for a few scavenging birds tweeting about the last scraps of food.

Just like there is a season for everything, there is a season for crypto, and this cascading domino effect is just another fleeting moment before a new dawn when a crypto spring leaps forward! The moral to this story is the worse exchanges make themselves look, the more beautiful bitcoin will become, so never give in, never give up, and never let the exchanges win, for there will be many more to come & merchandise you if their wise lesson is not learned "If it's not your keys, then it's not your crypto!"

# I got the idea for this post from Shakespeare, this post is based on one of his sonnets, Sonnet 102: My Love Is Strengthen’d, Though More Weak In Seeming!


*My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the show appear;
That love is merchandized, whose rich esteeming,
The owner’s tongue doth publish every where.
Our love was new, and then but in the spring,
When I was wont to greet it with my lays;
As Philomel in summer’s front doth sing,
And stops his pipe in growth of riper days:
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough,
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
Therefore like her, I sometime hold my tongue:
Because I would not dull you with my song.*

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