My days keep blurring together,
nothing is happening,
but everything is happening.
I wake up, I move, I breathe—
do what I’m supposed to do.
Smile when it’s expected.
Hold it together long enough
to get through the day.
Time feels soft now,
like it doesn’t want to remember itself.
Mornings turn into evenings
before I notice I was even here.
I’m tired in places sleep can’t reach.
Carrying things I don’t know
how to set down yet.
Waiting for something to make sense,
or maybe just waiting
to feel like me again.
So the days blur.
They pass quietly,
hand in hand,
like they’re trying to be gentle
with what I’m surviving.
Through the Fog 