You saw pieces. A message. A pause. A version of me that didn't make sense. From the outside, it probably didn't. Inside it, nothing did. Things stopped connecting. Thoughts slipped. Time blurred at the edges. I was writing things down so I wouldn't lose myself. Not metaphor. Not exaggeration. Just trying to stay. There were rooms I couldn't trust. Air that wasn't safe. A body that stopped cooperating without asking permission. From the outside, it looked inconsistent. From the inside, it was constant. I was getting smaller while everything around me kept moving like nothing had changed. You saw distance. I was trying to understand what was happening to me. You saw silence. I was using everything I had to hold on to what was still mine. You saw something unclear. I was living something that didn't need your clarity to be real. You weren't there. That's not blame. That's just truth. And truth doesn't require agreement to exist.