Ⅰ.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ Ⅱ.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ Ⅲ.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ Ⅳ.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ Ⅴ.

There is a silent pain in being who you are — a loneliness that doesn’t scream, but corrodes. Walking among others feels like crossing a mirror: you see them, but no one sees you. Smiling takes effort, speaking is exhausting. The world seems shaped for other faces, other ways, other frequencies. Being different isn’t beautiful — it’s tiring. Connections slip through your fingers like wet sand. Being is not enough; you must fit, adapt, hide. And then, little by little, you learn to fall silent. To shrink. To lose yourself. Until the day even silence no longer offers shelter. And the emptiness, which once hurt, now only… exists. Constant. Uninhabitable. Vast.