Dust.

What is that supposed to be?

Honestly?
Depends on the day you’re looking at it.

Some days it looks like chaos.
Like everything’s loud but nothing makes sense.
Like you’re trying to hold yourself together and it’s… messy.

Other days it feels familiar.
Like all the parts of you that don’t get shown.
The rough edges. The half-healed parts. The stuff you don’t explain.Is it broken then?

Nah.
It’s layered.

You’re not meant to be clean all the time.
You’re allowed to be unclear.
To be figuring it out in pieces instead of answers.

This isn’t about perfection.
It’s about existing in the middle of it.
Still standing. Still moving. Still here.

If you see yourself in it, even a little 
that’s enough.

Nothing polished.
Nothing forced.

Just real.

Fullstop.