He held a familiar lostness in his eyes—one that could be deeply felt regardless of their stifled silence, curiously lost in the mundane of days. And, despite his cold presence, I could still sense his mild soul grappling with the dullness of his world: a world that’s lost its heart. Carrying his wounds in his arms wherever he roams, like a pathless wanderer who had forgotten his way home; one step here, and another in the void. He was some sort of voluptuous confusion, scarred raw to the bone—a devoid fractal of the man he couldn't become. Wearing his vulnerabilities as his only armor, he was chaos; and thus, he was alive.
Jan 16
Jan 16, 2026 at 5:13 PM UTC
Last night I was tracing my face. I felt my hollow eye sockets, my skull with all its details—my bones. I could feel all my bones. Just the mere thought of fully realizing that I am a walking skeleton and this flesh is nothing but a costume, waiting to be eaten by worms until it unravels what's beneath.
But neither of them is who I actually am.
My mind is a restless, vast universe shaped by concepts, thoughts, lives, different versions of existence, wide ranges of experiences, uncountable levels of perceptions. Fluid and formless. Yet, to be reduced into something static? When I look at my vague image in the mirror, I get stunned by the fact that this is what people get to perceive; this is the vessel that contains the deep oceans of my inner viscerality.
I feel betrayed. Maybe because who I am physically does not reflect my inner depth. It rather resembles my father's face,or is it his mother's? Or her mother's? Perhaps it's not what I believe it to be. I didn't own it, nor did I choose it. I've always felt this gap between my consciousness and my external state—the one that belongs to tangibility, the one they can easily define and label—while I feel boundless. My body and mind are two separated entities that don't belong to each other. And that incoherence! I can feel it tremendously.
Jan 8
Jan 8, 2026 at 11:06 AM UTC