This scroll is for the quiet exhaustion you never name out loud.
Not the tired that sleep cures — the other one.
The ache from shrinking, performing, navigating a world that rewards the safe version of you.
It’s for the madness you hid so well…
and the deeper fear of being seen as more than the mask you’ve mastered.
This is not a pity song.
This is a mirror and a permission slip.
