Words from Track 2
November 23, 2025
The Check-In You know that moment in life when things crumble just enough for you to say, “Ah yes, this is fine,” while everything else
Six p.m. is Not Dinner
November 14, 2025
German hospital food really is a full anthropological study, especially Track 2. It’s like they designed the meals by asking, “What if we removed joy?”
You Don’t Even Have a Week?
November 10, 2025
I self-harmed again. I don’t know how to soften that sentence, so I won’t. The voices had been getting louder over the past few days,
The Trade
November 7, 2025
It’s been a few days since that night, and I’m still trying to decide what was real and what was dream. The voices were louder than they’ve been in months, and there was a moment when the whole room seemed to tilt. I remember the blur of it more than the detail.
Astro
November 5, 2025
Astrophysics was my love.
I wonder why I left it and started doing solid state physics.
Maybe because I got influenced by M, “You will have more options here.” maybe it was that quiet bitterness that comes after too many small sacrifices, the whisper that says, “Why should I be the one to sacrifice every time?”
The Appointment
November 3, 2025
“So, how are you feeling?”
“Right now or how have I been feeling lately?”
Technically, Today
November 3, 2025
Today, I will go to my doctor.
I don’t know what to say to her. How do you condense months of chaos into fifteen minutes across a desk? How do you speak about something that still feels unspeakable?
Photograph
November 2, 2025
I have some memories untouched—
letters unsent,
the faint scent of her cologne,
the grey of that twilight.
Glass Theory
November 2, 2025
I have a theory about glass.
Not the kind that shatters, but the kind that waits.
Windows, screens, lenses.
Surfaces that pretend to separate us from the world but only thinly.
They don’t really divide anything; they just slow light down long enough for us to mistake reflection for distance.
Silk
October 29, 2025
Sometimes I look in the mirror and see traces of all the versions of me that tried to be decisive. The notes, the plans, the fragments of sentences left open. And I realize how all of them failed, and how that failure has quietly kept me alive.