Fragments of the Quiet Mind

At night, everything unravels. The day folds itself into strange corners, and the shadows start speaking again. Sometimes there’s a kind of quiet, where for a second, breathing feels like a choice, and not a battle. Those moments are rare. Most days feel heavier than they should. You wake up already losing, like something invisible got its hands around your throat, feeling suffocated even before you opened your eyes. And you don't know why. You drift. Half there, half somewhere else. Staring through people. Forgetting how to answer simple questions. The world feels like a broken mirror, with each shard showing a version of you you don’t recognize. You reach for yourself and cut your hands open. People try to help. They mean well. They tell you to talk, to "get out more," to laugh at things that feel hollow. You nod. You shrink. You learn how to smile without meaning it. You could pretend. You could meet them halfway. Lower yourself into that easy, forgettable noise. But y...

There’s a strange stillness that settles in the aftermath of everything falling apart—like the world has exhaled, but you’re still holding your breath, waiting for something to change. You move through the wreckage, unsure of what to salvage, but you know you can't keep pretending everything is fine. The weight of it all presses down on you, suffocating, relentless. Hope feels like a distant concept, something from another life, while the storm around you only grows louder. It’s as if you’re standing at the edge of a blade, every step carrying the sharpness of inevitability. You search for relief, for an escape, but what you find is the echo of your own pain. It’s not just betrayal—it’s the feeling of being left behind, discarded in favor of something more convenient. The faces you once trusted now hide behind their lies, their smiles sharp like knives that cut deeper with every moment. It’s as though you’ve become a shadow, a ghost haunting a life that doesn’t fit anymore. Each b...

Paradox.   It’s the thing that clings to us, even when we don’t ask for it. A puzzle without a solution, wrapped in the trappings of our daily grind. We're told life is meant to be lived, to be experienced, yet with each breath we take, it feels as though we’re slowly suffocating. Every step forward, a step into an endless loop. Who we were and who we are are distant echoes, separated by time and choice, like shadows that stretch and shrink without warning. We chase answers as if they’ll bring clarity, but all we find are more questions—more locked doors. The more we seek, the more it slips away, like sand through our fingers. There’s always a part of us that feels just out of reach, something we can’t quite grasp, yet the second we stop reaching, that same emptiness comes rushing in. The more we want, the more we lose. The more we run, the further we are from the finish line. And yet, stopping to rest feels like surrender, like admitting that this chase, this madness, might never...

Despair doesn’t knock. It just enters, creeping through the cracks in your mind, sliding into every thought, every breath, until it feels like it’s always been there. You never see it coming. One moment, everything feels normal, or at least bearable. And then, like a thief in the night, it’s there—silent but suffocating. It wraps itself around your chest, makes it hard to breathe, and the more you try to push it away, the stronger its hold becomes. It doesn’t announce its presence with any grand gestures, no dramatic flare. It’s subtle, sneaky even. Maybe it starts with a moment of confusion, a fleeting thought you can’t shake. Or perhaps it’s the weight of a thousand little disappointments, stacking up until you can no longer ignore their presence. Each new layer presses down harder, until it becomes your only reality. The world becomes distant, almost irrelevant. The faces you see every day, the voices you hear, they seem muffled and unreal, as if they’re happening in another worl...