There are moments when the world loses its sharp edges, and everything begins to merge into a singular, hazy hum. It’s not that you aren't moving, but rather that the days have lost their distinct colors. You wake up, you drift through the motions, and you find yourself back in bed before you’ve truly felt present. It is a life lived in the background of your own mind, where the faces are soft, the voices are muffled, and the future feels like a distant shore hidden behind a thick, unrelenting fog.
The Out-of-Focus Lens
The morning sun is just a smear of white,
A pale reminder of the passing night.
I walk through streets where shadows have no end,
And wait for colors that the world won't lend.
I hear my name, a sound from far away,
As clocks dissolve the substance of the day.
The people pass like ghosts in silver rain,
Too soft to touch, too ghost-like to explain.
I reach for anchors—something real and fast,
But find my fingers slipping through the past.
The goals I held, the dreams I used to know,
Are blurred by winds that never cease to blow.
It’s not a darkness, just a lack of light,
A static hum that steals away my sight.
I’m moving forward, yet I’m standing still,
A leaf that’s caught against the window sill.
I wait for focus, for the world to snap,
To find the exit from this velvet trap.
But for today, I’ll let the edges run,
A life in blur beneath a hidden sun.
There is a strange, quiet comfort in the haze, even if it feels like losing a part of yourself. Living in a blur is often a way the heart protects itself from the sharpness of reality—a temporary sanctuary until we are ready to see clearly again. I am waiting for the moment the lens shifts, trusting that eventually, the lines will harden and I will find my footing in a world that is no longer out of reach.