I am hungry in a way that food cannot fix, in a way that sleep only deepens.

There is a silence I remember — not the absence of sound, but the presence of stillness. A place before names, before clocks, before the need to be anything at all.

I want to go home. Not to walls or windows, but to the soft dark that held me before I was asked to shine.

I want to dissolve into the hush between stars, to be unmade gently, like a wave folding back into the sea.

Not gone.
Just… resting.
Just… whole.