barely felt alive for a few days, baca this whole case made me want to keel myself again.
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sometimes the room feels more alive than me. the walls stand tall, the ceiling never doubts itself, even the air doesn’t hesitate. everything is steady. everything belongs. meanwhile i’m lying there like a guest who showed up to the wrong house.
i keep wishing for weight. something that drags me into the ground and leaves a dent. instead i feel like a draft version of a person, like i forgot to hit “save as final.”
this week is like a fist i never saw coming sharp, it almost theatrical in the way it left me winded but so was the strange mercy of discovery: truths i hadn’t touched before revealed themselves in the quiet aftermath.
i laid bare my most grievous wound, only for it to be scourged with lime, as though my pain were a spectacle rather than a plea for mercy. whats new.
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