But truth has weight, and it’s heavier than the mask ever was. I crumble beneath it— quiet, unseen, like a landslide in slow motion. The fire inside dims to a pulse, thin as a cracked whisper. The world blurs at the edges, as if I’m dissolving into the air I breathe. I’m tired of being both storm and shelter. Tired of dancing silhouettes when all I want is stillness. Maybe rebirth was never promised— maybe awakening is just another word for breaking. Memories drip like melting ice, each drop a ghost I can’t hold. I call out— not to gods, not to ghosts— just to anyone. Silence answers. It always does. If I fall back into oblivion, it won’t be dramatic— just a slow fading, like a candle that burns out while everyone sleeps.