I move through days like a guest in places I’m supposed to belong. At school, I sit in chairs that never feel like mine, surrounded by voices that pass through me like I’m already fading. The noise follows me home — but home isn’t softer. It’s just another room where I learn how to be small, how to swallow words, how to exist without being seen. I carry exhaustion in my bones, not from work alone, but from pretending I’m not breaking in places no one checks. Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to arrive somewhere and not feel like I should leave. To speak and not measure the cost. To breathe without bracing for something. But mostly I wonder if the world would notice if one day I simply stopped trying to belong to it. If I slipped out quietly, would anything change? Or would life keep moving like I was never meant to stay? And when the noise finally fades, when the weight finally lifts, maybe all that will remain of someone who kept going anyway is the quiet the stillness the silence after me.