Eighteen.
Just a number, right?
But now I’m supposed to be ready?
Ready for what?
To fight, to break, to suffer?
Celebrate? For what?
Losing everything I thought was real?
Or should I brace for the inevitable crash?
Home? Feels like a cage.
The world? It’s a brutal place.
Love? A joke I fell for.
Friends? Gone, like they never mattered.
Warmth? A memory that’s fading, fast.
Fairytales were a sick joke.
Life isn’t about living.
It’s about not dying,
About drowning and pretending you can breathe.