I wonder how it started.
Ah, was it that day?
Life felt whole once, or maybe I only thought it did. A fragile wholeness, like glass that reflects until it shatters. One moment, I thought I had everything. The next, it slipped between my fingers, vanishing before I could even name it.
That was when it happened
when the world cracked open,
when memory split,
when a childhood shadow stretched long across my present.
That was when it triggered.
I don't know what "it" was trauma, fear, or simply the moment a child learned silence could become a cage.
It broke me apart.
Trapped in Realizations
Now I am trapped in my own realization.
It's like facing myself in a hall of mirrors, each reflection hollow, each pair of eyes not quite my own. I search for one that will stay still, but the images ripple like water disturbed.
Memories swirl.
Fragments of a child.
Echoes of laughter.
Screams that time tried to erase but never fully silenced.
What remains is this hollow, this ache without shape.
Echoes of Loss
I thought I had everything.
Or believed I did.
Days blended into certainty. Until that day. The pivot. The crack.
Like glass underfoot shards cutting into silence.
Childhood trauma unfurled its dark wings, and now I stumble through corridors of myself, opening doors only to find emptiness waiting on the other side.
The Weight of Silence
Silence grew teeth.
At first, it was gentle—
a pause, a space to breathe.
But over time,
it pressed against my chest,
heavy as stone,
waiting for me to break beneath it.
I tried to speak.
Words rose in my throat,
but they turned brittle,
splintering before they ever touched the air.
No one noticed.
Or maybe no one wanted to.
And so I learned:
silence could shield,
but it could also suffocate.
It wrapped itself around me,
a second skin I could not peel always" .
But I we not forget that dey.
[Dark : close-up of an eye, shadowed]
I'll never forget that face.
[: warped memory of someone glaring with pure hatred]
That face… absolute hatred. It stabbed through me like a dagger, twisting, pressing, refusing to let go.
[: flames rising, smoke curling in black and white ink]
Ashes. Fire. The smoke of a dead body…
[: small child's hands reaching for a pot on fire in a kitchen]
And the same flame that burned the food in my childhood home.
[: close-up of narrator's mouth, whispering]
I can never forget that day.
[silhouette standing against firelight, determination in the posture]
But this is where my story begins.
[Close-up, eyes narrowing]
You and I.
bold black letters across white space]
Here I come.