Unlucky me….

Deep down, inside the endless void of my soul… I am sad.

Not the kind of sad that fades with time, no.

It’s the kind that sleeps in your bones, that hums in the silence when everyone else has left.

If you were to walk down the steep hill of my soul, you’d see it—

The quiet wish to not continue.

Maybe you’d see something else. That’s up to you.

But me?

I see melancholy.

I am melancholy.

I want to feel anything but dread.

I want to do anything but dream.

But my path—my feelings—they were written into my veins the moment I was born.

I was lucky, you know.

Lucky enough to have a family who loves me.

But unlucky to be me.

Unlucky to have this war inside.

Unlucky to chase after dreams that tear me apart.

To run like a dog after people who never stop. Never look back.

I chase stars that have already died.

I obsess over a woman I will never see again.

And yet—

Even if I married another, even if I lived another life,

I’d still love her.

Still crave her.

Still worship her beautiful toxicity.

It’s barbaric, I know.

Unhealthy.

Unholy.

But it’s mine.

This obsession, this chaos—

It’s what I am.

I’m chaos that stays still.

A storm without motion.

I’m not the hero.

I’m not the villain.

I’m not even part of the story.

I’m the narrator.

The one who watches.

Observes.

Speaks the lines but never gets a name in the credits.

There is no place for me among the champions.

I was never meant to be seen.

I was meant to watch.