They say this quiet is freedom.
They say a steady mind is a safe mind.
They say we're better off forgetting the things that once made us human.
But sometimes, just before the signal takes hold, I feel something flicker.
A pulse. A warmth. A crack in the quiet.
Like my heart remembering a language it isn't supposed to speak anymore.
This morning, the silence feels too deep, too heavy as if it's not calming me but burying something alive inside my chest. And in that muffled darkness, a single thought, small and trembling, forces its way through:
What if the signal is failing?
What if the silence isn't protection... but a cage?
When the city exhales, I rise thumb aching, breath unsteady and for the first time in years, I hear it:
A sound beneath the system's perfect quiet.
A heartbeat out of sync.
My own.
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