The World Has Moved On

Have you ever felt as though the world kept walking while you remained suspended in a room where time forgot to breathe?

The days arrive, the seasons change, and people gather new memories, yet you wake beneath the same unyielding sky.

Progress feels like a reluctant stranger—offering crumbs when your soul has been starving for a feast.

You're drowning in silence, somehow gasping for air that never reaches your lungs.

You smile like the first light of morning, warm enough to comfort everyone who crosses your path. Yet behind that borrowed sunrise, your candle burns with a wick worn thin, its flame trembling against the darkness, wondering how much longer it can endure.

You keep walking, even when every step echoes through an endless road that promises no destination.

The horizon never seems to grow closer. Your spirit is willing, but the tank is nearly empty.

And perhaps the cruelest part is this:

The world mistakes your survival for strength, never realizing you've been carrying the weight of invisible storms, hoping that tomorrow will finally remember your name.