52 - The Darkness That Arrives Without Knocking

It happens quietly. 

No trigger. 

No memory. 

No sharp edge to blame.

Just a slow unraveling,

like a thread pulled from the inside until something in me caves in.

One moment I’m here, 

doing something ordinary

pouring a shot, 

wiping a counter, 

watching the light shift across the floor. 

The next, 

I’m somewhere else entirely. 

Not sad. 

Not angry. 

Just… gone.

It’s not a storm. 

It’s a fog. 

Thick, 

soundless, 

settling over everything until the world feels distant

and I feel like a ghost haunting my own life.

There’s no story to tell. 

No heartbreak. 

No failure. 

Just a sudden emptiness that makes everything feel like it’s happening behind glass.

I try to trace it

To find the crack where it slipped in. 

But there’s nothing. 

No reason. 

Just the weight of nothingness itself.

And that’s the part that hurts the most. 

Not the pain, 

but the absence of it. 

Not the tears, 

but the dry, 

hollow quiet where feeling used to live.

I move through it like I’m underwater. 

Smiling when I need to. 

Speaking when I must. 

But inside, I’m somewhere else

adrift in a place with no name, 

no map, 

no exit.

It passes. 

Eventually. 

But while it stays, 

I forget what it feels like to be whole. 

To be here. 

To want anything at all.

And when it leaves, 

it doesn’t slam the door. 

It just slips out the way it came in

without a sound, 

without a trace, 

without an apology.