A Question That Breathes

Sometimes it feels this life is not the one I dreamt- as if somewhere, another version of me is living a softer truth. Sometimes it feels this is exactly what I wanted, only I never knew the cost would be this quiet unraveling. Everything is messy- not in the world, but within, where thoughts collide and meanings refuse to settle. Everything is in doubt, even certainty trembling, whispering- to be, or not to be, not as words, but as a wound that thinks. Grief lingers, soft and unspoken, reshaping the air I breathe. And the future- an unreadable sky, storming somewhere inside. Still, I remain, not whole, not certain, but breathing through the fracture, learning that becoming is sometimes just enduring the question without an answer.