The Unknown Girl

This morning, I woke up as I always do - same bed, same breath, same weight in my chest. But unlike yesterday, today arrived with a quiet kind of decay. It hollowed me out wordlessly. And in that stillness, it took the last scrap of meaning I had left - that fragile thread of familial love. Maybe that’s why the thought of ending it all has crept back in again.

There was a moment I heard someone playing the piano. A girl, maybe. I didn’t see her. Didn’t know her. But somehow the sound found its way in. It didn’t ask me anything. It just sat with me, quietly. 

And for a brief, reluctant moment, I found myself crawling back toward that brittle thread. It has never been strong enough to save me. It still isn't. I can’t say I’m sure of anything anymore. But to that girl, unknown and far away - may happiness never leave you.

And then this afternoon, I reread Phaedo, and this time I disliked Plato more than Socrates. I realized how many things Plato put into his teacher’s mouth, making the whole story feel kind of ridiculous. I frowned at the part where the jailer cried for Socrates. It just felt so awkward and badly done.