I watch myself moving through the days, going through motions that feel rehearsed, like lines from a play I no longer understand. My voice sounds hollow, foreign, as though it belongs to someone else entirely. And the moments—they stretch and collapse all at once, blurring into a shapeless haze. Time doesn’t flow anymore; it pools, stagnant and still, while I float somewhere above it all, unable to reach down.

There’s a strange kind of quiet in this state, a numbness that feels both a blessing and a curse. It also steals the color, the weight, the life from everything around me.  Now, I’m not sure where I am—only that it is somewhere between, nowhere at all.

I wish I could tell you how it started, when exactly I began to slip. But the truth is, I didn’t notice until I was already gone. And now, as I drift further, I wonder if there is a way back. Sometimes I call out, hoping someone will hear me through this vast and silent distance. But my voice is lost in the void, and I am left with nothing but echoes of myself.

Perhaps this is what it means to disappear—not all at once, but piece by piece, until you are little more than a memory fading into the wind.

this is what it menas to disappear

There was a time when the world was quiet. Or maybe it wasn’t the world—maybe it was just me. I remember the silence, the kind that wasn’t empty but full, the kind that settled softly like dusk over a slow-moving river. Back then, my mind was still a place I could rest in, not a storm I had to survive.

It must have started as a whisper, a small ripple in the stillness, something I thought would pass. But it grew until it became everything. Now, the quiet feels like something I dreamed, something too distant to be real. I chase it, reach for it in the rare moments when the chaos slows.

And I am left here, a  drift in the wind, unable to remember what it felt like to simply be.

Sometimes, late at night, when the world is half-asleep, I almost hear it again. A memory of silence, pressed between heartbeats, between the ticking of the clock and the sigh of the wind against the glass. But it never stays. The storm always finds its way back, tearing through my thoughts, scattering them like leaves in a wind I cannot stop.

I wonder - was I ever truly at peace, or was it only the absence of knowing what would come? And if I was, if that silence was real, is it lost forever? Or is it waiting for me somewhere, just beyond the horizon?

I remember the silence

There is a sound I can almost hear, just beyond the edges of my mind—a slow, patient ticking, an unheard countdown to something I cannot name. It hovers in the quiet spaces, in the pause between breaths, in the way the air shifts before a storm.

I do not know what it is counting down to. I only know that it is always there.

Some days, I think it is time itself unraveling, thinning at the edges, escaping my grasp no matter how tightly I try to hold it. Other days, I think it is me. That I am fading, piece by piece, unnoticed even by myself.

I reach for certainty, for something solid, but the future is a blurred thing, shifting like a dream half-remembered upon waking. And beneath it all, a quiet fear takes root—irrational, insistent—that one day I will simply vanish. Not in an instant, not in a moment of catastrophe, but in the slow erosion of being.

I wonder if others hear it too, this quiet pulse of something ending, or if it is mine alone to bear. Perhaps it has always been there, this unseen metronome ticking in the background of existence, and only now have I learned to listen. But listen to what? A warning? A promise?

I do not know. I only know that the counting continues, steady, relentless. And I am left standing at the threshold of something I cannot see, waiting for an ending I do not understand.

the pause between breaths

i miss you so much

with you forever w/dearu

i'll be okay

Somewhere beyond the shifting waters,
a foghorn calls—low, unyielding,
its voice swallowed by the mist,
returning to me as nothing but a shiver in my bones.

I listen, waiting for meaning to take shape,
for the sound to thread itself into something real,
but it is only an echo—
a hollow pulse against the vast indifference of the tide.

A lighthouse flickers on the horizon,
a ghost of light in the drowning dark.
I do not know if it calls me home,
or simply warns me away.

I have been drifting for so long,
chasing after things I once swore I could hold.
But what if I was never meant to reach the shore?
What if I was made only to listen—
to stand in the haze of uncertainty,
to hear the foghorn cry and know
that some distances were never meant to be crossed?

I watch the light—
not to follow, not to escape,
but to remember that even in the emptiness,
something still reaches back.

foghorn

behind every light

“There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t know where to start.”

Willix:
linktr.ee/willixbeats

Willix - memory_03

it's alright if you don't want to smile

There is a point you cross without noticing. It could be a word you didn’t say, a glance you didn’t return, a door you didn’t walk through. At the time, it felt like nothing. A moment no different from the rest.
And yet, somewhere along the way, you look back and see it — a thin, invisible line, drawn in the dust behind you. And you realize you’re on the other side now.
That’s when the weight comes. The slow, suffocating understanding that there’s no way back. Not because you’re not allowed — but because what you left behind has ceased to exist. Like a bird that landed in your open palm for a heartbeat, and you let it go, thinking it was just a shadow.
Only later do you understand what you held. Only later does your body remember its warmth. And then, the nights become heavier. You lie there, staring into the dark, counting the shapes of something you’ll never hold again.
You tell yourself it was nothing. You tell yourself you couldn’t have known. But the truth is simpler, crueler — you had it. You let it fall through your fingers. And now there is only the echo, repeating in the quiet, long after the world has gone to sleep

never find your way back

instagram.com/bienbienbienbienbien
https://open.spotify.com/artist/1Q1YaJhj7mePPO9K2xtsTi?si=s92hSYQpREO7phI6cW1nmQ

this is what it menas to disappear

FTBN