Fractured Silence

I remember the exact moment— not the date, not the place— but the way it felt when I started slipping away from myself.

My hands were clenched, not out of anger, but to hold on to something— a memory, a version of me, a voice I could barely hear anymore.

It’s strange how silence can become louder than any scream. And in that silence, I think I broke a little.

Maybe this is what it looks like: not falling apart all at once, but pixel by pixel, frame by frame.