They thought it would end me. The silence. The turning away. The way they spoke my name like it was something bitter in their mouths—or worse, not at all. They made the burial look like mercy, but I knew what it was: an erasure. A quiet undoing. They called it consequence. I called it betrayal. I wasn’t ready. And yet, the earth took me in. At first, I fought it. I clawed against the weight. I screamed in a language only the dead understood. No one heard. No one came. There’s something hollow about being forgotten while your heart is still beating. Something feral. Something cold. But the dirt... the dirt didn’t judge. It simply held me. I lay there. Long enough to forget the shape of light. Long enough to imagine that maybe I’d deserved it—this burial, this becoming no one. I wilted inward, until even my thoughts stopped making sound. But what no one tells you is that seeds don’t bloom in the open. They rupture in darkness. Quietly. Painfully. I cracked. Split wide, with...
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.