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...
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.