the loop

I avoid things.

Not because I don’t care,

but because I care too much,

and it terrifies me.

Even the things I love—

I leave them.

Half-finished, half-reached,

left behind like echoes in a locked room

I can never seem to open again.

It’s like I’m always standing

on the edge of something good

and stepping backwards anyway.

Not because I want to fall,

but because somewhere inside me,

I’ve convinced myself

I don’t deserve to fly.

There are so many things I want to do.

To create, to feel, to live.

I make lists in my head—

plans, dreams, versions of myself

that are brave

and full of color.

But I do nothing.

Not out of laziness.

Not out of lack.

But out of fear.

Out of this quiet, paralyzing feeling

that every step forward

is one more chance to fail.

So I don’t move.

I try.

I swear, I try.

To build something beautiful.

To shape a life that feels like mine.

But every time I start,

I end up tearing it down

with my own hands.

I know it’s me.

I know I’m the one

who keeps poisoning the garden

and then wondering why nothing grows.

And it hurts—

knowing you’re the one

breaking your own heart

a little more every day.

But I can’t seem to stop.

I keep looping back

into the same shadows,

the same numb routines,

the same quiet self-destruction

dressed as comfort.

I’m tired.

Not just of life,

but of myself.

Of being the storm

in my own sky.

I just want—

I don’t know.

To feel free.

To feel like I can breathe without guilt.

To let myself be okay

without tearing it down

the second it starts to feel real.

But for now,

I just keep walking in circles.

Avoiding the things I love.

Avoiding myself.

Waiting for something

to break the loop

that I keep rebuilding

every time I try to escape it.