Have you ever stood beneath a sky

that feels too low,

as if it’s pressing its weight

directly onto your chest?

Where everything you built with hope

starts to crack—

quietly at first,

then all at once—

and suddenly it’s just you

holding the pieces,

alone.

Your heart beats like it wants to escape you,

like it’s too full to stay contained,

too heavy to carry anymore.

So you pull away.

From people.

From noise.

From the world.

You dream of leaving—

not just the room you’re in,

but the version of life you’re stuck inside.

A clean slate.

A different place.

A new chapter

written far away from this ache.

And even when someone is beside you,

the emptiness still echoes.

It feels the same as before.

No change.

No relief.

Just the same silence wearing a different face.

You start to wonder—

am I the problem?

Am I alone in this?

Or is this just who I am now?

You don’t know anymore.

There are moments

when you want to leave this world,

moments when existence itself

feels like too much effort,

when you wish you could forget yourself

after having been here at all.

And you ask—

am I wrong for feeling this way?

Am I wrong for saying it out loud?

I really don’t know either.

But I know this—

feeling lost does not mean you are broken,

and questioning your place here

does not mean you don’t deserve one.