genz-kafka

[genz-kafka]

grief is a circular staircase and to heal is not to forget, but to persist in the ascent of this fractured stairwell—broken, heavy, yet compelled ever upward.

[genz-kafka]

numb is the new romantic —

ironic detachment sells better than sincerity. apathetic eyes, curated chaos. but i never looked good pretending. i only ever lied when i told myself i didn’t miss you.

[genz-kafka]

some days you wake up and you just feel... wrong. not sick. not tired. just wrong. like your body doesn't fit, like your skin isn’t yours. like you're glitching in a life that moved on without you.

the people you love glance at you like you're background noise — tolerated, not heard.

they don’t ask if you’re okay. they just want you to be less. less sad. less messy. less you.

so you start shrinking. quietly, carefully, like maybe if you take up less space, they’ll make some for you. but it doesn’t work. it never does. and then you wonder if they ever really wanted you there at all.

maybe you’ve always been the extra piece. the heavy sigh in their otherwise perfect day. the reason they leave the room.

you try to explain it, to ask for help, but your voice feels like white noise. so you go silent. and they call that peace. and that’s when it hits you — they didn’t stop loving you. they just stopped pretending.

this is what gregor felt like. this is metamorphosis. – franz kafka, if he was 22 and chronically online.