Moving Through It

She sat in her car,
didn't turn the key,
watched the world outside
move so easily.
Everyone else
seemed so clear, so sure —
she just sat there,
unlocking the door.

Nothing's wrong,
that's what she'd say.
Job is steady,
love's okay.
But something quiet
wouldn't let her be —
not loud, just there,
persistently.

I don't feel like myself these days.
I can't explain
this quiet haze.
I'm just moving through it,
moving through,
same as always —
but it isn't true.

She said it out loud,
it sounded strange,
no clear reason,
no obvious change.
A friend just listened,
didn't rush to mend,
just asked her gently
to stay, not bend.

I don't feel like myself these days.
I can't explain
this quiet haze.
I'm just moving through it,
moving through,
same as always —
but it isn't true.

What if it doesn't
need fixing yet.
What if this feeling
is a door, not a threat.
I don't like sitting
in the in-between —
but maybe that's
where clarity's seen.

I've been living
in a way that made
sense for so long,
now it starts to fade.
And I don't know
if it still fits right —
still holds together,
still holds me tight.

Something shifted,
I said it aloud.
That's enough
for today, somehow.