The Lost One.

By Sanjana Kale

I am so tired of myself. How can someone who is

exhausted by their own existence possibly heal

themselves? It feels like I'm caught in an endless loop,

endlessly searching for an escape that never comes. I

don't know what I want whether it's people,

conversations, or even distractions. But there is one

thing I am certain of: I want to run away.

I want to leave this house, this city, this suffocating life.

I want to vanish so thoroughly that no one even

remembers my name. No ties, no expectations, no

burdens. I want to strip myself of everything my

identity, my memories, my existence and just

disappear.

But the cruel irony is that i can't. Something invisible

holds me here, binding me to this place, this pain, this

life. It feels as if this suffering is my fate, a punishment

written in the stars, a sentence i must carry out. And so,

I stay. I endure. Perhaps I will leave this world the same

way I have lived in it-tired, unseen, and unfulfilled.

What about those who don't belong anywhere? Those

who drift through life like ghosts, out of place

everywhere they go-where can they possibly find a

home? Where can they go to quiet this restless,

overthinking mind? It's as if the world has no space for

people like me.

I look at the sky sometimes, at the endless expanse of

stars, and wonder if there's a place out there for

someone like me a place where I won't feel like a

burden, where I won't feel this heavy ache in my chest.

But even that feels like a dream too far, a hope I can't

allow myself to believe in.

So, where? Where do the lost go? Where do the weary

find rest? Or are we destined to wander, carrying the

weight of our minds, until we finally collapse under it?

By Sanjana Kale