Have you ever wondered…
If you vanished—
not loudly, not tragically,
just… slipped out of the world—
would anything truly change?
Would the air feel lighter,
or exactly the same?
Would anyone pause mid-sentence,
mid-laugh,
mid-breath…
and feel that something is missing,
without knowing what?
Or would the world simply continue—
uninterrupted,
unbothered?
…
My eyes have seen too much.
Not in spectacle—no, nothing grand—
but in quiet, lingering ways.
The kind of pain that does not scream,
but seeps.
The kind that teaches you
how to imitate happiness.
Until even you forget
what the real thing felt like.
There are three kinds of people, I think—
Those who are truly happy.
Those who convince themselves they are.
And those who… stop trying.
…
The wind brushes against my face—cool, almost gentle.
It carries the scent of rusted metal and distant smoke,
mixed faintly with something sweet—street food from far below.
It feels… almost comforting.
Like a hand urging me forward.
Or maybe pulling me back.
I stand at the edge of the bridge.
The concrete beneath my shoes is rough, uneven—
grains pressing through the thin sole, grounding me in place.
My fingers curl around the cold railing,
metal biting into my skin.
I look down.
The city stretches beneath me—
lights flickering like indifferent stars.
Cars hum like distant insects.
Voices blur into an indistinct noise.
It's far.
Far enough that the fall would not be quick.
Not clean.
Painful.
The thought settles in my chest, heavy…
but strangely distant.
…
And yet—
like every coward—
I step back.
My foot lands.
Soft.
Warm.
Wrong.
The smell hits next—sharp, sour, unmistakable.
Dog shit.
…
Hell itself could not have prepared my mouth
for the string of curses that followed.
The bitterness lingers on my tongue
long after I scrape my shoe against the pavement,
as if the world itself had mocked me—
Not even this, it seemed to say.
…
I walk.
Or maybe I drift.
The city passes around me—voices, footsteps, engines—
all muffled beneath the steady hum of music in my ears.
The song bleeds into me,
dulling the edges of everything.
Color seeps faintly into the gray.
Not real color—
just enough to pretend.
People brush past me.
Someone laughs.
Someone shouts.
I don't look.
I don't stop.
I don't go against the flow.
…
My hair falls into my eyes—
a thin curtain shielding me from the world.
They say I look intimidating.
Tall. Broad enough.
But they never see the shoulders.
The way they slope.
The way they carry nothing—
and yet seem so tired.
My clothes hang loose on me,
fabric shifting with each step,
catching the wind—
like I'm trying to disappear inside them.
Like a child wearing something too large,
waiting to grow into it.
…
Home.
At least, that's what I call it.
…
The elevator smells faintly of metal and stale air.
A hint of cleaning chemicals lingers, sharp in the nose.
I press the button.
3rd floor.
The doors slide shut with a low mechanical sigh.
Just before they meet—
a hand slips through.
Then a girl.
She stumbles in, breathless, laughing—
a light, unrestrained sound that feels… out of place.
Too bright.
Too alive.
I move instinctively to the corner,
pressing myself into the smallest space possible.
Music fills my ears again.
A barrier.
A wall.
…
What's so funny about almost getting caught in a closing elevator?
I don't understand it.
Wouldn't be me.
…
"S—"
A sound.
Faint.
Drowned.
"Si—"
Still nothing.
The music swells.
"Sir—"
…
Is someone… calling me?
The thought feels distant, like it belongs to someone else.
"Sir, excuse—"
The words dissolve into melody.
…
Ah.
Right.
The music.
I pull one earbud out.
The world rushes back in—louder than before.
"Ah! Sir, good morning! I'm a new tenant here!"
Her voice is bright. Clear.
Too clear.
I blink.
"…Hm."
The sound leaves me before I can shape it.
"I just wanted to ask—what floor is this headed to?"
…
A pause stretches.
Too long.
Why is she asking me?
Why am I thinking about answering?
…
"…3."
My voice feels unused.
Rough.
Like it doesn't belong to me.
"Ah! Thank you! I'm heading there too."
Of course you are.
…
There's a soft click.
Aluminum.
She pulls out a can of soda—unopened.
Cold mist beads along its surface,
tiny droplets catching the light.
She smiles.
It's… warm.
Genuine.
"Would you like some?"
…
For a moment—
just a moment—
something shifts.
The world… changes.
The dull gray fractures,
and color seeps through the cracks.
My heartbeat stutters—then quickens,
loud in my ears.
Too loud.
…
The elevator dings.
The doors open.
I step out.
Walk.
Unlock my door.
Stand there.
…
Why is she here?
Why is she standing in front of my door?
Why is she looking at me like—
…
like I'm someone worth noticing?
…
I don't remember inviting her.
And yet—
for the first time in a long while—
I hesitate before going inside.