𝕴'𝖒 𝕿𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉

I'm so tired.

In the mind.

In the soul.

Where it matters most.

But sleep cant heal it.

There is a silence now

that does not belong.

It sits wrong.

Like a chair still pulled out,

for someone,

who has already become...

unreachable.

I keep turning,

As if the air might correct itself,

as if presence were a habit,

As if the universe could remember...

but it does not.

It only stares back,

With that vacant...

practiced indifference,

like a god,

that has long since stopped pretending to care.

Something has been removed.

Not taken.

No, that would imply intent,

a violence with edges that perhaps I could touch.

This was quieter.

Sudden.

A subtraction so precise

It left no wound to tend,

only the unbearable symmetry,

of what is missing.

I am tired.

Even grief feels misplaced...

It wanders the halls of me,

like a stranger,

searching for a room,

that no longer exists.

And I...

I remain.

Which feels, at times,

like a clerical error.

Like I was meant to be placed

into the same absence,

filed neatly,

under “resolved.”

But something misfired...

So I walk around with this… remainder.

This echo without a source.

This pulse that continues

without permission.

I speak sometimes...

just to hear if the world still answers.

It does.

But it answers differently now.

As though a frequency has been lost,

and everything I hear,

is slightly off-key.

slightly wrong.

like the sound of music

Had only been remembered

after the instrument has been burned.

I am tired.

Not in body...

At least not how rest can cure.

That would be merciful.

No, I am tired in the place

where meaning used to anchor.

Where things once held.

Now everything drifts.

And I am left here,

holding nothing,

with both hands!

Trying to remember,

why I ever thought,

it would stay...

. . .

I must be tired... ღ