The Weight of Stillness

There are nights when silence feels heavy,

like a truth that no longer wants to hide.

You sit there — between thoughts and their echoes,

and the world folds inward, quietly.

You wonder if the stars ever tire

of watching us chase meaning

in places that were never meant to hold it.

Maybe the moon keeps her distance

because she’s seen too many

humans mistake reflection for light.

You think about how time isn’t passing —

it’s carving.

Every second shaping you

into the memory someone else will hold.

And maybe that’s what living is —

not the chasing, not the winning,

but the gentle acceptance

that nothing stays,

and yet somehow,

everything remains.