Veni, vidi, vici
If you don't take the risk, will the regret of not trying outweigh the fear of failure?
Living with What’s Gone
Today, I woke up to a silence that didn’t just fill the room—it clung to me, wrapped itself around my ribs, and whispered in that hollow space where my heart used to feel full. It wasn’t the soft kind of quiet. It was sharp, brutal, and unrelenting, the kind that sinks into your bones and makes you ache in places you forgot existed. I thought I’d learned how to live with it, how to bury it under routine and motion, but no. It crept back in like it always does, uninvited and heavy, dragging memories behind it like chains. It gnawed at scars I thought had long since healed, and I hated how easy it was for them to tear open again. So I sat in the dark. Crying, like I always do when it becomes too much. The halls stretched on endlessly, their stillness mocking me, and yet I wandered them like I might stumble across something—anything—that would make this emptiness feel less consuming. My fingertips brushed against the walls, the rough texture grounding me, a painful reminder of how far I...
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