The Only Place That Didn’t Take From Me

Not in reality—
but in the only place that ever felt light enough
to carry me
when everything here felt too heavy.

Up there, nothing weighs you down.
Not your body.
Not the years.
Not the version of you
that kept breaking
and still had to keep going.

The ground isn’t solid.
It gives.
Like it understands
what it means to fall apart quietly.

Soft, pale dust—
slipping through your fingers
the moment you try to hold on…
like every person
that ever promised to stay.

And you learn not to hold.

Because nothing there asks you to.
Nothing there demands you explain yourself,
or perform,
or pretend you’re fine
when you’re not.

There are no mirrors.
No eyes.
No comparisons.

No one telling you
this is just what happens…
as if that makes it easier to accept.

Just silence.

The kind that doesn’t judge you.
The kind that doesn’t rush you.
The kind that lets you exist
without having to prove
you’re still worth looking at.

And maybe that’s why I keep looking up.

Not because it’s beautiful—
but because it feels like a place
where I could finally stop
losing pieces of myself
just to survive here.