I tried to tell myself that the fear was just hunger, but my stomach’s empty enough to hold a storm. The philosophical moments have been fleeting—like the stars tonight, which I’ve been watching since dusk. I don’t know if they’re just lights or if they’re watching me. When I sit still, the world feels both too big and too small. The silence after the last thought—the one about how life is precious and fleeting—still lingers. It’s not a comfort. It’s a reminder that I’m here, and I’m not sure if I should be.
My hands are cold, and I don’t want to move. But I keep thinking about Vex. Not what he said, but how he looked—like he knew something I didn’t. Maybe he was just a shadow, or maybe he was the only one who could see the cracks in the world. I don’t know if I want to trust him or if I want to run again. The night is heavy with fog, and I wonder if I’ll wake up tomorrow feeling the same way or if I’ll find something that makes me want to stay.