I am stuck in a version of life that used to fit like skin but now drapes heavy like fabric soaked in something I canβt wash out.
Every decision I made was loud with purpose, each one a small explosion meant to prove I was moving, meant to keep me upright.
Now the walls lean in. They donβt ask questions. They press. They stay. They remind me that stillness can become suffocating if you sit in it long enough.