There’s no announcement. No grand epiphany. Just a soft unraveling. Like mist slipping from the mountain as the sun stretches itself across the horizon — slowly, quietly, completely. It hits you while doing your usual tasks. Perhaps while washing the dishes or passing by a street you once avoided. It doesn’t ask permission, it doesn’t need to. You realize you’re no longer holding your breath for the sound of a message, no longer tracing their name in the dust of memory. And it doesn’t sting the way you feared it would. It just… settles. At some point, you stopped checking if they viewed your story. You stopped wondering what you did wrong, what you could’ve done differently, what they'd say if they saw you now. The fantasies grew faint like old film reels — flickering, distant, unnecessary. They used to feel like prophecy. Now, they feel like fiction. It’s not that you no longer care. It's just that the waiting part — the gripping, hoping, aching p...
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.