QUIET HOURS

Morning keeps showing up like it expects something from me. I don’t answer. I wake up already tired of my name, like it weighs more when I say it out loud. Room feels smaller than yesterday, walls don’t move but they lean somehow. Food goes cold on the plate, not hungry, not sick, just blank. Phone lights up, I flip it face-down, every sound feels like a prank. I don’t cry, I don’t scream, I just sit there letting time chew through me. Minutes stack like unpaid debts, I don’t dodge them, I let them move in. People say “you’ll get through this,” like there’s a door I haven’t tried. Truth is, I’m not stuck behind it, I just don’t see a reason to step outside. It’s not pain. It’s not fear. It’s the absence that stays when both disappear. I don’t feel sad, I don’t feel strong, I feel nothing for way too long. Days keep moving, I stay the same, still breathing but not engaged. If this is living, explain the point, ‘cause I’m present but I don’t join. I’m not dying, I’m not “okay,” I’m just here while the light drains away. I shower with the lights off, don’t wanna see what’s left of me. Mirror feels like an accusation, like it knows what I didn’t say this week. I cancel plans without excuses now, stopped pretending I’ll make it later. Every promise feels counterfeit, even the ones I made to save myself. Sleep comes heavy, leaves me hollow, dreams don’t scare me, they just stop. I wake up mid-thought every morning, like my head forgot how to start. I’m not broken in a dramatic way, no headlines, no final scene. Just a slow erase in real time, watching myself become routine. I keep waiting for the worst part. This might be it. I don’t feel sad, I don’t feel strong, I feel nothing for way too long. Heart still works, mind still runs, but neither one feels like it’s mine. If this is living, explain the cost, ‘cause I’m paying it every day I’m lost. I’m not dying, I’m not “okay,” I’m just here while the light drains away. Dragging myself through hours that don’t end-right, clock hands moving but they don’t feel real-time, head full of interference I’m not naming out loud, lungs still working but I’m nowhere around. I don’t wanna vanish, I don’t wanna stay, I just want the weight to pick a lane, every thought circles the same drain, same room, same floor, same day. I remember being someone with momentum, now effort feels like a foreign language, every task needs a reason I don’t have, every breath feels slightly overdue. I’m not asking for help, I don’t trust it, not chasing hope, I don’t buy it, I just keep moving ‘cause stopping feels closer to gone than I’m ready to try yet. I miss wanting things. I miss looking forward. I miss the version of me that didn’t have to force every morning. Don’t call this peace, don’t call it calm, this is surviving with the sound turned off. I’m still here but I’m barely involved, still breathing like it’s protocol. I don’t need saving, I need release, from the quiet that keeps eating me. If I make it out, it won’t be clean, but I swear I won’t disappear quietly. I’m not okay. I’m not dramatic. I’m just still here. And right now, that’s the hardest part.