the feeling of hanging by a thread?
When letting go feels possible,
holding on feels exhausting,
and somehow
you keep choosing neither.
And, there you are,
existing somewhere
between holding on and wondering
why you are still holding on.
And the strangest part is,
nothing happened.
Only this heaviness,
sitting quietly inside me,
without a name,
without an explanation.
It just comes.
A random day.
A random hour.
A completely ordinary moment.
And suddenly,
something inside me feels
dangerously close to giving up
on the effort of being here.
Maybe we have become
too good at hiding ourselves.
We don't hide behind tears anymore.
We hide behind normal conversations,
unfinished thoughts,
busy hands,
ordinary days.
We bury the evidence so deeply
that even the people closest to us
would never guess
how thin the thread has become.
And yeah, maybe that’s
what makes it frightening.
You don't need a reason
to feel empty.
You don't need a tragedy
to become tired of yourself.
Sometimes the mind simply reaches
a place where everything feels
too far away to care about and
too heavy to carry.
For a few minutes,
the thought of disappearing
can sound gentler
than the thought of continuing
to negotiate with your own darkness.
Not because you want the world
to end,
but because you desperately want
the war inside you
to become quiet.
Then, somehow,
the moment passes.
The room is still there.
The day continues.
The world asks for nothing
and everything at once.
And you are left wondering
what exactly happened to you
in those few minutes.
Nothing?
Everything?
Maybe that is what
hanging by a thread really is.
Not knowing what broke you,
not knowing what might save you,
only knowing that somewhere
between one ordinary moment
and the next,
you came terrifyingly close
to letting go.
