BLEAK

It's unsettling when night finally closes in. The cold creeps up on you, and everything just feels... heavy. The kind of quiet that surrounds you isn’t that calming silence people often talk about—the one that’s supposed to soothe your soul.

No, this quiet seeps into your bones, dragging you down with it, like a weight that grows heavier the longer you sit with it.

It clings to me, not for comfort, but to remind me of the things I’ve been trying so hard not to face. It’s like a shadow creeping in, spreading through every corner of my mind, filling the spaces where hope used to live.

And this is where everything feels like it's falling apart.

I used to believe the future stretched out endlessly ahead, full of possibility, like there was always going to be more time. More chances. But now, it feels like the future’s cracking under the weight of reality, like something fragile that’s breaking apart, piece by piece.

It’s not some bright, far-off thing anymore. The present feels shaky, and the future? Uncertain.

It feels like the future is shattering before I even get a chance to reach it. The air itself seems to hum with this uneasy tension, a cold reminder that tomorrow may not bring the light I once counted on. That promise I believed in? It’s slipping away, leaving nothing behind but the empty fragments of what I thought could’ve been.

And I keep asking myself: how did it come to this? When did the stars go cold? They used to feel like they were telling me a story, offering some kind of comfort. But now, it’s like those stories are lost in the sky, as if they never really mattered in the first place. Funny, in a sad way, how the things that used to bring us peace just fade into silence.

But still, I try. 

I keep pushing forward, stitching together whatever I can with these fragile threads, hoping they’ll hold, even though they always seem so close to snapping. For what, though? A sign? Some small flicker of meaning in all this mess?

It feels almost foolish how much we ask from the silence, waiting for it to give me answers, to tell me I am on the right path. Like a moth drawn to a dying flame, I chase after success, I chase after validation. But even as I keep running, there’s this nagging thought: “Is this really worth it? Am I even on the right path?”

All the choices I’ve made, all the effort I’ve put in—it’s like they’re echoing around in my head, clashing with the reality I’m facing now. And the more I think about it, the more I wonder—what if none of this was ever supposed to mean anything? What if I’ve just been running in circles, chasing after something that was never mine to hold?

It’s like planting seeds in barren ground, hoping for something to grow, even though deep down, you know it probably won’t. I want to believe they’ll take root, but some part of me wonders if I’m just scattering them to the wind, hoping for a miracle.

I can’t shake this question—Am I just wandering in the dark, chasing after futures I can’t even see? Trying to leave my mark, knowing that most of the time, those marks fade before they even settle. 

I work, 

I hope, 

I push forward, 

but how much of it really lasts? Or am I just whispering in the night, but in reality, I am swallowed up by the noise?

Even if I don’t know where this is going, even if everything feels uncertain, I keep moving. Maybe somewhere ahead, around the next bend, there’s a sliver of light waiting for me, perhaps, a tiny crack in the darkness that proves the night isn’t forever... 

And until I find it, I guess I’ll just keep walking, even if I’m not sure where it’s leading.