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This book is a quiet storm - born from confusion, personal unrest, and the fragile clarity that sometimes follows. These poems are not attempts to fix, but to observe: to look at one's own emotions from a distance, without judgment or pity. They speak of heaviness, of nights that don't always lead to dawn, and of moments that remain unresolved. Each poem is a mirror - cracked, but honest - reflecting what happens when we stop running and begin to notice. It's not a guide. It's a glance - into the subtle chaos of being.
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Bol
This book is a quiet storm - born from confusion, personal unrest, and the fragile clarity that sometimes follows. These poems are not attempts to fix, but to observe: to look at one's own emotions from a distance, without judgment or pity. They speak of heaviness, of nights that don't always lead to dawn, and of moments that remain unresolved. Each poem is a mirror - cracked, but honest - reflecting what happens when we stop running and begin to notice. It's not a guide. It's a glance - into the subtle chaos of being.
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This book is a quiet storm - born from confusion, personal unrest, and the fragile clarity that sometimes follows. These poems are not attempts to fix, but to observe: to look at one's own emotions from a distance, without judgment or pity. They speak of heaviness, of nights that don't always lead to dawn, and of moments that remain unresolved. Each poem is a mirror - cracked, but honest - reflecting what happens when we stop running and begin to notice. It's not a guide. It's a glance - into the subtle chaos of being.
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