After a long hike, when every step has chipped away at my energy, I finally sit down to send a message. The phone screen glows faintly—10% battery remaining. Not enough for comfort, but enough to reach out. In this small digital window, I grasp a tenuous connection to something larger than myself. There’s a peculiar irony in how much attention we pay to these lifeless numbers—percentages that dictate the limits of our communication, our connection, our presence. We monitor the battery like it’s a metaphor for our own emotional reserves, a visible measure of something invisible and infinitely more complex. In an age where connectivity is assumed, where distance is bridged by pixels and signals, it’s striking how often we feel disconnected from ourselves. Our phones warn us of dwindling power, but who warns us when our capacity to engage, to care, to truly be present, begins to fade? The battery percentage is a daily reminder that everything—attention, affection, patience—has limits. We ...
I dwell in the spaces where shadows meet light, where questions outnumber answers. A seeker of truths buried deep, I write to unearth what lies beneath the surface. In the chaos, I find my voice. In the silence, I find myself.