When Every Breath Feels Like Betrayal

You are always running. Like a shadow slipping through a crowded street, you blend into the noise, lost in an endless escape. Is it hiding? Or is it a desperate attempt to outrun the pain, hoping to stumble upon peace somewhere down the road? The relentless running, the desperate chase for something—something you can never name. 

The days and nights blend into one long, endless stretch of time, where even the brief moments of pauses feel like weights pressing down on your chest, suffocating. And in those rare silences, the mind whispers. It doesn’t scream or cry out, it speaks softly, like a secret you can barely grasp. 

It speaks in fragments, in broken pieces of thoughts, scattered shards of memories. It speaks of pain, but never directly, it hints of sorrow, but never in words. There is no clear story, just a lingering sense of something unfinished, something unsaid. But the weight of it is there. Always. 

You sit with it. No matter how hard you try, your mind, relentless, cuts deeper. It dissects itself, stripping away everything in search of an answer, a meaning, a truth. The questions remain buried, unvoiced, because even questions have lost their meaning now. What answer could ever suffice? What could ever fill the emptiness? what is there to find, except the slow erosion of hope? 

There is no grand solution, no comforting resolutions to be found. Only a strange, quiet acceptance, a surrender to the inevitability of things, the absurdity of it all. You aren't running towards a victory—no, this is survival. You are no longer racing against something. There is no destination. No frantic need to keep pace. In this running, in the movement itself, there is a twisted kind of freedom.

 Run is no longer an escape. It has become the only answer, the only shield against a pain you no longer dare to face. 

But how dare you not face it? Still, the grief pulls you under, deeper into the abyss, and guilt follows around you like a noose. Just a slow drowning in a vast ocean of nothingness, where every breath feels like a betrayal. The pain lingers, but it no longer screams—it has become part of the silence. There are no complaints, no more questions, just an endless echo of memory, thought, mind.