The Signal Is Already Searching

The afternoon stretches out, a long, quiet middle where the noise of the day has faded, leaving you alone with a hollow kind of panic. You sit there, hand hovering over the music, the food, the silence, and realize you no longer know what actually feels good to your own body.

The choices feel heavy, not because they matter, but because you have forgotten how to listen to the quiet voice inside that knows. You are searching for a signal in the static, forgetting that the signal is the one doing the searching.

The light that lives in you is not confused about what it needs. It is the stillness beneath the panic.

It is the appetite that exists before you name the hunger. You do not need to figure it out right now.

You only need to remain.