existing at a threshold

I’m a patient of my own mind, carrying a wound that doesn’t bleed—only aches when I’m still. Wandering in a ward no one else can enter. Floating between realities that aren’t mine. This gnawing restlessness drains every passion and hope in my veins.

While I’m awake, a fraction of my dreams feels like a memory, vanishing as soon as I touch it. I can discern dream from reality, but my waking life feels like a limbo. Drifting in the raging ocean that knows neither depth nor edge.

I’ve been searching in this world for as long as I can remember, and yet I haven’t found home. When my feet are on the ground, I’m just floating between worlds—can’t find my anchor in this realm. While others know where to return to, I’m just a pilgrim who never reaches her destination. Forever seeking while the horizon slips away.

Wherever I go, loneliness becomes my home. No amount of love can ever fill this hunger for a place beyond the physical. I’m a homeless soul, lost among the living, in this liminal universe.