I’m so burnt out by this place. Everything down here feels incredibly
heavy, like we’re all just sleepwalking through a grey, endless loop.
I wake up, I go through the motions, and I wait for it to end.
It never changes. But lately, I can’t stop staring at the sky. I
know it sounds crazy, but I swear there’s another reality up there.
A place where things actually make sense, where the colors aren’t
washed out, and time doesn’t just drag you along like a chained dog.
Everything up there is different. It feels alive.
I’ve spent countless nights trying to figure out how to cross
over—how to just fall upwards and leave all this behind. But
I don’t have a map, and I’m just an ordinary guy stuck on this
side of the glass. The gap is firmly closed for me. Yet, there is one
thought that keeps me breathing: I can’t find the door, but whatever
is up there can. The boundary is a one-way mirror. I can’t get to
them, but I know they can get to me. I hope I’m just waiting for
someone to reach down and pull me up.
