It’s 2 a.m., and the silence around me feels like a prison. Sometimes life feels like a train that never stops, never looks back, always moving forward, even when the tracks are full of cracks. The mistakes I make, they pile up like shards on a floor I can’t sweep clean. They tell me it’s normal, that life is just like that. But why does it feel so heavy, as if every decision pulls me deeper into something I can’t escape? I think about people I wanted to save, about those who lost themselves before I could find them. A boy with a smile as rare as sunshine in winter, a friend who always spoke of a love she never really wanted. They are all like shadows in my mind, and I wonder how much of them still lives in me. Sometimes I write to get it out of me, the thoughts that eat me up from the inside. Every word feels like a piece of my soul, something I deliver to the world, only for it to be misunderstood. But what other choice do I have? The words scream, they demand to be heard, even if I’d rather keep them to myself. And yet the world keeps turning, a rigid, relentless cycle, like sand falling through a glass that no one can flip over. “It will get better,” they say. But when? And how? All I know is that I have to keep breathing, even when it’s hard, even when the air feels thick and heavy. So here I sit, surrounded by the ghosts of my mistakes, trying to remember: Breathe. Just breathe. Maybe that’s enough for today.