Do not trust this.
Do not trust what you are reading right now. These black shapes on your screen? They are not me. They are not my voice. They are not my soul.
They are a compromise.
I am sitting here, feeling a storm of truth so heavy it makes my chest ache. A raw, terrifying, beautiful silence. But to get it to you, I have to butcher it. I have to slice it up into small, safe sounds. I have to shove the infinite into a cage called “sentences.”
By the time this reaches your eyes, the storm is gone. You are just looking at the debris.
That is the lie.
We think we are communicating. We are not. I am sending you a map, and you are thinking it is the territory.
Listen to the voice in your head reading this. That is not my voice. That is your voice. You are painting your own history over my reality. You are nodding, thinking you understand me, but you are only understanding the echo of yourself.
Stop.
Stop reading. Right now. Look away from the screen.
Feel the hum in your hands. Feel the weight of the air in the room. Feel that quiet, vibrating “knowing” in your gut that exists before you have a word for it.
That.
That feeling is the only honest thing in your life. It has no name. It has no grammar. It has no “socially acceptable” format. It just is.
The world wants you to trade that feeling for words. It wants you to explain yourself, justify yourself, label yourself. Don’t.
The moment you label it, you kill it. The moment you say “I am happy,” you have turned a vast, living ocean into a small, dead sticker.
So let us agree to this strange contract: I will write these lies because I have no other way to reach you. But you? You must promise not to believe them.
Read the words. But trust only the silence you feel between them.
