Fragments of the Quiet Mind

There are mornings that begin without warning. Not the kind that come with light filtering through the blinds or the smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen, but the kind that just appear — a sudden here-ness , like you’ve woken up mid-sentence in someone else’s story. Lately, most of my days feel like that. Suspended. Not quite real, not quite imagined. Just movement — toward deadlines, toward conversations, toward yosi - break and another episode of a show I won’t remember. I used to think life would be this wild river I’d have to learn to swim through. But now it feels more like a conveyor belt, slow and numbing, carrying me past things I forgot to want. I miss wanting. Not for anything specific. Not for love or escape or clarity — though those too, maybe. I miss the ache that used to come with being alive. The soft hunger of dreaming, of reaching for something just out of sight. That quiet desperation that reminded me I had a heart, even when I didn’t know what to do with i...