“You look tired.” Yeah…I haven’t slept right in weeks. Every time I close my eyes it’s the same picture playing again, same room,same darkness, same silence thick like wet cloth. “And you still try to rest?” I do. But the moment I drift, the world flips its colours on me. Red turns cold. Green turns bruised. Even your face,or mine, slides sideways like it forgot how to stay real...nvm. “What do you see now?” Right now? Everything’s inverted. The pavement looks like frozen smoke, and the grass…the grass is blue. Not beautiful-blue. Not“I’m trying to be deep” blue. Just wrong blue. A mistake my brain keeps repeating because it thinks it’s protecting me. “You sound scared.” I’m not scared, I’m tired of being empty. There’s a space inside me hollow as a knocked drum, and sleep keeps pouring sand through it until I feel like I’m the one drifting, grain by grain, leaving pieces of myself in the wind. “What do you want?” Help. A hand,a presence, someone to anchor me when the colours warp, someone to stand close enough that the distortion doesn’t swallow the whole scene. I want the space filled, not with noise,not with lies, just with someone who sees the blue grass and doesn’t walk away. “Do you believe I can do that?” I don’t know. But I’m sitting here,talking to you, because the world keeps bending and I need something to hold on to before I twist with it. “So what now?” Now… just stay. Let me breathe. Let me point at the grass and call it blue until the colours start coming home again.