Have you ever felt it? That aching feeling that you're only living because dying takes time? That you're not really waiting for something beautiful, just... waiting for the end? I don’t know how to explain it exactly, but lately, it’s like I’ve stopped hoping for things. Not because I’m mad or bitter—just because I’ve come to understand that everything, no matter how bright or meaningful, fades. Wins, losses, heartbreak, joy… it all becomes dust eventually. I think I’ve accepted it. The way people forget, the way time erases. I used to fight so hard to matter, to be remembered, to feel alive. But now? I just let the days pass through me. Some mornings I wake up and wonder if anyone would notice if I didn’t. Some nights, I stare at the ceiling and feel my chest rise and fall and wonder how long that will last. It doesn’t scare me. Not anymore. It feels like a soft surrender. Like sinking into water and deciding not to swim. There’s this strange peace in knowing the world will go on without me. That the sky will still change colors, that people will laugh and cry and fall in love long after I’m gone. Maybe that’s beautiful in its own way. Or maybe it’s just the last thing I have left to believe in. But even now, I’m not sure that was ever mine to keep. (—lamuerte)