Deep Thoughts

There’s a strange weight to the truth when it arrives too late—like hearing the echo of a song long after the music has ended. It lingers, but it no longer belongs to you. I think that’s how it feels when people slip away.

You can’t reach back. You can’t unlive the silence. People fade, and you are left holding only the outline of what they once meant to you.

There’s a cruelty in how memory works. The faces blur first, the sound of their voice grows fainter. Yet the ache stays sharp. Regret doesn't scream—it whispers, persistent and low, reminding you of the moments you let slip through your fingers.

The times you could have shown up, could have spoken, could have been something more than a spectator in your own life.

And the worst part? The world moves on. The streets stay loud, the days keep passing, and you are the only one still haunted by the ghosts of what was left undone.

what was left (winter letters 3.1)

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 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

winter drifting // 2025
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winter drifting

reanimation. w/ ser

I’m not moving. I can feel it. Every day, the hours stretch on, but I remain here, in this same space. Not moving, not going anywhere. I try to tell myself that I’m waiting—that there’s something ahead, just out of reach—but it’s a lie. I am not waiting. I am stuck, tethered to something invisible, something heavy that keeps me anchored in place.

I try to move. My body aches with the effort, as if every part of me is screaming to break free. But no matter how much I pull, I stay. It’s as though the ground itself is holding me, pressing me into this one spot, and I am too tired to fight it.

I’ve started going for long walks, though. I heard that walking helps you think, that the act of moving forward, even physically, can trick the mind into believing it’s going somewhere. That maybe, just maybe, if I walk long enough, I’ll cross some invisible threshold, a boundary I can’t see, but one that might finally take me out of this place.

wander

too late to be sane

its been years

SPOTIFY: https://open.spotify.com/track/3vLRWVTKBT2nmMUSG3YjxK?si=4628b4a1b052418d
APPLE MUSIC: https://music.apple.com/us/album/it-hasnt-for-me-single/1829694936

LYRICS: But why? Why is it that we have to be so afraid of death? Are we only alive because we don't wanna die? Does something good ever come from living? Because there is nothing for me. And all of the days I've lived, nothing good has ever happened to me.

It Hasn't for Me

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the life i desire

Faith In You

Mantra

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october (slowed & reverb)

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too late to be sane

FTBN

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