The Weight That Doesn’t Let Go

Writing through exhaustion when nothing feels enough.

Lately, I feel like I’m stretched so thin I might split.
Between love that asks for presence, work that drains me dry, and the one thing I can’t not do — write.

Most days it feels like I’m failing at all three.
Not enough for her.
Not enough for the job.
Not enough for myself.

Some days it feels like no one notices. Like the words go out into a room and never come back. Like the harder I try to hold it all together, the more it slips through my hands anyway.

It’s lonely. To pour yourself into something and hear nothing echo back. To sit in the half-light of a screen, bleeding into sentences that will never know your face. To crawl into bed knowing tomorrow’s already waiting with the same weight.

The other night, High and Dry came on. That voice, that ache — don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry. I felt it in my chest like it was written for this exact stretch of my life. Because that’s what it feels like: standing out in the open, skin raw, waiting for someone to notice the bleeding.

And still, I press “publish.”
Because I’d rather bleed into silence than stay stitched shut.

I don’t know if anyone reading this will feel it.
I don’t know if it matters.
But here it is anyway.

// Scorpio Veil

Still here. Still writing.