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Personal Note:
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Poem
It's almost 1 a.m., and I, shipwrecked in insomnia,
lie with my eyes lost on the ceiling that silently tells its story,
listening to the monotonous murmur of a world that never stops,
even though within me, all the wheels have halted with a muffled grind, like a forgotten machine.
I've wandered here before, haven't I?
In this suspended space, in this hour of elongated shadows,
where time stretches thin, like an old spider web,
and my mind unearths every ghost hidden in the dark corners,
ghosts I thought long buried under layers of silence.
It's strange how the darkness, like a thief of souls, knows how to reveal—
things you didn't even know you still carried on your shoulders, like invisible burdens.
I wonder... why do I always return to the same turning point?
To missed chances, like trains that have left the station,
to unspoken words, like letters forgotten in a dusty drawer,
to people I loved too late, loving too much and too intensely.
All these sit beside me, like silent friends at a midnight table,
as if 1 a.m. were the meeting place for regrets and unfinished business.
I remember the promises whispered to myself,
to be better, to love more deeply, to find patience
and to forgive with an open heart, like a sky after a storm.
But now, they seem like fragments of falling stars,
half-formed ideas, remnants of a being I no longer recognize.
Did I truly want them? Or were they just words thrown to the wind,
spoken to fill the void of loneliness that surrounds me like a sea of silence?
In the deep night, where thoughts intertwine like rivers flowing quietly,
I lose myself in the reflection of what I never became,
each promise an echo reverberating in the quiet room of my weary soul,
where shadows intertwine with the desire to be,
where each ghost claims its place
in the unfinished story of my being.
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