Tag: inner collapse

I feel so alone

for the very first time—

not the quiet kind of lonely,

but the hollow kind,

the kind that echoes

when I breathe.

I feel like I’m letting go,

like something inside me

has slipped through my fingers

while I wasn’t looking.

Every little thing

feels heavier than it should—

like I’m carrying a sky

that forgot how to hold itself.

And fear…

fear has come to stay.

Not as a visitor,

but as a shadow

curling around my feet,

following me from room to room

as if it knows

I’m too tired to fight it tonight.

But even in this quiet collapse,

even in this trembling place,

some small part of me

is still reaching—

for light,

for warmth,

for anything that reminds me

I don’t have to face this alone.