🍓— unread diary entry #002
the air tastes heavier these days, like the sky is holding its breath — choked by the invisible fingers of smoke and waste. i walk through streets wrapped in gray, where the trees look tired, their leaves whispering stories of a time before the poison.
it’s strange how something so vast can make me feel so small, like my own worries fade into the smog, and the earth’s slow ache drowns out my voice.
sometimes i wonder if the world is crying in its own silent way, or if we’re too busy to notice that we’re the ones causing the tears.
pollution isn’t just in the rivers or the air— it’s in the way we forget to care, in the way we close our eyes to the slow unraveling of everything we once loved.
i want to breathe freely again. not just for me— but for the trees, the oceans, the birds, for the quiet parts of the world we haven’t broken yet.
but how do you heal a wound when the knife is still in your hand?
