I end where you begin
Acrylic on paper  40 x 50 cm
 
Why do you keep looking at me like that—like I’m only half-formed, like you expect me to decide who I am? You know I can't. You know I won’t. We both live here, split by this line that no one else seems to see. You try to smile with your lips while I stare the world down. You hope. I ache. But we're the same, aren’t we? I feel you beneath me, under this mask of knowing. You’re the one who flinches when we don’t belong, who burns with the question—am I floating above it all, or sinking so deep no one can reach me? I pretend to hold the sky, but you… you hold the sorrow of not knowing where the sky begins. And yet, somehow, we breathe in unison. The fear you carry hums inside me. The hope I fake belongs to you. Maybe that’s what wholeness is—not clarity, but this unbearable duet we keep singing in silence. I’m tired of pretending I don’t need you. We are both trying to remember the shape of something we never fully were. And still… I believe we’ll find each other again. Maybe that will be enough. Maybe that will be everything.