There are people who, in the silence of long nights, grow weary of the sheer weight of their own existence. For them, loneliness is not merely the absence of others, but the oppressive presence of the self—that voice which ceaselessly whispers and judges, offering no avenue of escape. They feel like strangers even amidst a crowd, for an invisible wall stands between them and the world—a barrier no one else can cross.
These individuals seek salvation; not necessarily in the embrace of another or the clamor of daily life, but sometimes in the oblivion of self-forgetfulness. Some immerse themselves in work to silence that inner voice; others turn to art, seeking to transmute their pain into beauty; some resort to faith and prayer, while others seek refuge in dreamless sleep or the numbing routine of the everyday. Each searches for a way to break free from this internal prison, hoping that one day they might draw a deep breath and feel a sense of lightness.
Yet, escaping the self is the most arduous journey of all. For with every step they take, they find themselves waiting at the destination. It is as if their shadow were a companion more loyal than any other, never once letting them go. And yet, this very ceaseless quest is itself a form of living—a silent, profound struggle that may one day lead to acceptance, rather than escape.
