Why me?
Why this life,
with all its weight,
its moments of chaos
and stillness
that never seem to make sense?

Why the days that drag,
heavy with nothing,
and the nights that swallow me whole,
when sleep feels like a forgotten friend
and the silence is too loud?

Why am I caught
between who I am
and who I’m supposed to be?
Why do I keep running
but never seem to reach the place
I thought was waiting for me?

The world keeps turning,
but I feel like I’m standing still—
a bystander in my own life,
watching moments slip past
while I try to figure out
why they never seem to matter.

Why me?
Why do I keep waking up,
fighting against the weight of the world
when it feels like everything
is moving forward without me?
Why do I chase things I can’t hold,
desire things I can’t touch,
reach for dreams that are always just out of reach?

I don’t have the answers—
I don’t think anyone does.
But I keep asking,
because somewhere in the question,
maybe there’s a reason
for all this wandering,
for all this searching,
even when the answers
never seem to come.