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I’ve been running from something, though I’m not sure what anymore. The warmth of coffee, once a comfort, now feels distant, like everything else. Time has frozen something inside me, leaving only a hollow chase for peace that never seems to end. Maybe it’s not about winning or losing, but about letting go—surrendering to the emptiness and finding a strange peace in it.
We tell ourselves that we’re supposed to rise, to fight, but at what cost? To lean on others is easier, but when you stand on their shoulders, do you even recognize the height? I almost gave in to the lies, to the quick escape, but something stopped me. What’s left when you abandon yourself for an illusion?
In the quiet of now, I realize it’s the small things that matter. The overlooked moments where peace resides—not in the noise, but in the stillness. What comes next is uncertain. Joy, sorrow—both are inevitable. But maybe that’s where the freedom lies: in accepting the paradox of it all.
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