Some nights feel hollow,
echoing with the ghosts
of voices you once trusted.
Other nights feel heavy,
oscillating beneath your skin,
clawing its way up to the surface.
And in that solitude,
the silence isn’t kind—
it settles in like something alive,
pressing its weight into your ribs
until even breathing feels borrowed.
Slowly undoing the edges of you,
until your name feels distant
and your reflection looks like a stranger
you used to know.
Loneliness stops being a feeling
and becomes a place you can’t leave,
where thoughts loop in on themselves
until every exit looks the same,
leading toward the last breath.
And in that place,
even the idea of reaching out
feels like something that belongs
to someone else’s life.