When I was younger, I dreamed of being a star.
Not the kind that fades quietly in the night, but one that burned under a spotlight—
brilliant, untouchable, where my name carried weight and was whispered with awe.
I was five, eyes wide with wonder, heart light as air.
Back then, I believed that being seen was the same as being loved,
that the world would hold me gently if I shone brightly enough.

But now? Now I crave the shadows.
Not the soft shadows cast by light, but the deep ones,
the kind that swallow you whole and ask no questions.
I want to disappear into the quiet corners of the world,
where faces fade into obscurity, and names dissolve into nothing.
I long for silence,
to be far from consequence, from expectation,
and furthest of all—from myself.

My name feels foreign now,
a hollow syllable with no meaning,
a sound that drifts on the air but never lands.
It once carried dreams, hopes, promises,
but now it is weightless,
an echo I no longer recognise.

When I was younger, I wanted to shine.
I thought light would fill the cracks inside me,
that the applause would quiet the loneliness.
But now, I wish to fade—to slip beyond the edges of the frame,
to blur into the background where no one looks too closely.

Sometimes, I wonder if I missed my moment to vanish.
I think of the sea, vast and endless,
and of the moments when I stood at its edge,
the waves whispering an invitation to let go,
to drift beyond reach, where the world could no longer find me.
I should have jumped.
I should have surrendered to the tide and let it erase me,
soft and silent.

Yet, here I stand, caught in the in-between.
A shadow dreaming of being unseen,
a ghost clinging to the fragments of a name.
I do not know what keeps me tethered,
what keeps me here, on the cusp of fading.
Maybe it is the faintest flicker of hope,
or maybe it is just fear disguised as longing.

When I was younger, I thought I was destined to be a star.
Now, I just want to disappear.