Golden Hours

The sterile white room pressed in on me. Each breath is a gasp against the suffocating silence. They called it a place of promise where destiny awaited, laid out like a decadent feast. But the air tasted more of fear than of fortune.    People screaming, shoving, tears streaming down faces. Everyone desperate, grasping for something to give them an edge. I felt a tremor of defiance. To succumb to the chaos... To let the fear dictate my actions...   The world splintered. A kaleidoscope of colors washed over me. It still feels surreal. One minute I was just a normal girl, worried about my upcoming exams and whether or not I'd finally convince Mom to let me dye my hair. And the next I could bend reality. I could mend the broken and dance with the very essence of time. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and utterly intoxicating.    I can't explain it to anyone. They'd think I was crazy. Or they'd probably lock me up. But what does it all mean? What am I supposed to do...

You don't see me. Not really. You see a critic woman who's always trying to fix you. But all I want is to love you and to be loved by you. I long for your touch, your smile, and your gentle words. Instead, I'm met with your cold silence or sharp retorts.   Every careless comment, every forgotten promise—it all chips away at my self-esteem. I'm constantly walking on eggshells, never knowing when the next explosion will occur.   Why does it always have to be like this? I pour my heart into you. Every ounce of love and care I possess. Yet, it's never enough. You see my efforts as suffocating and my concerns as nagging. Is it too much to ask for a little understanding?   My soul attempts to take flight, but the weight of your apathy keeps it grounded. It's exhausting, soul-crushing. I'm tired of being the strong one, the one who always picks up the pieces. I wish I could just disappear. Fade into the background and become invisible.   Maybe distance will heal th...