I never knew silence could carry such weight.Not the silence devoid of sound,but the one filled with it… without understanding.
I could hear the world,yet I was never part of it.
The ground beneath my feet was never steady—or so it seemed.My steps were measured, cautious, as if I were walking on something that might vanish at any moment.I was not afraid of falling,but of what comes after it—that soundless void, without an end.
They once told me that every person has a path.No one mentioned that some paths are imposed,and that some lead nowhere.
I could not see the path,but I knew it was long.
The air around me was cold—not because it was winter,but because warmth was a distant concept.I never felt that I had lost something,because I had never possessed it to begin with.No taste. No sensation. No image.Only raw existence, stripped of meaning.
Strangely enough, I was not sad.Sadness requires a reason,and I had none.
I existed,and that alone was enough to unsettle the world.
Sometimes, when someone drew near, I could hear their hesitation—that brief pause in their breathing,as if they did not know how to deal with something that does not respond,does not look back,and does not explain itself.They saw a body,but they did not know whether anyone was inside.
Even I… was not certain.
Time passed, but without clear markers.No sunrise or sunset for me—only changes in sounds, in footsteps, in the number of breaths around me.I learned to count the world by sound, not by moments.
And every time I thought I understood its rhythm,it betrayed me.
There is a memory—or something like a memory—that sometimes waves at me from afar.It has no image, no form,only a sudden chill,as if something that should have remained buried… moved.
In those moments, my breathing quickens for no reason.My heart remembers something it never told me.
Perhaps this is fate.Not as a great force,but as a small mistake no one noticed.
If fate had a voice,it might have spoken many names…and passed over mine.
I asked nothing of this world.I did not ask to be born this way,nor did I ask to continue.
Yet I was here,and that alone was enough to make me a burdenupon a system that does not acknowledge errors.
Somewhere, there was a light.I cannot see it, but I feel it.Not a warm light,but the kind that hints without promising—as if it says, "Come,"and then falls silent.
Was it salvation?Or one final mockery?
I kept walking,because stopping was never an option.
I am the son of this path,the son of this silence,the son of a haunted destiny.