I stare into the noise long enough that it begins to sound like peace. Regret died quietly years ago. What remains is routine — endless, mechanical routine. Every conversation feels rehearsed, every smile counterfeit, every memory like footage from somebody else’s life. I no longer search for meaning in anything I do. The frightening part is not the emptiness, but how comfortable I’ve become inside it.

+rep is a med :)

+rep funny situation

+rep got really cute feet

I know what you are