Beam Me Up

There are moments when even photographs begin to fade, as if they themselves are tired of preserving history. Words become salty, resentments louder than music, and the air heavier than it should be. In this rhythm, you can hear not just “departure,” but liberation: nervous, shaky, but honest. When it's no longer scary to admit that you don't want to be here, nearby, inside someone else's drama. Let everything be erased, but at least there's a chance to start breathing for real.