THURSDAY ENTRY

He walks home carrying
a sky full of borrowed storms,
pockets heavy with names, deadlines,
and apologies he never owed.

The streetlights flicker like tired stars,
each one whispering,
keep going, keep going,
as if survival were a prayer.

He is exhausted
not from living,
but from holding together
a world that keeps collapsing
into his open hands.

And somewhere beneath the noise,
beneath the sleepless ache of being alive,
his heart still beats softly
like a candle refusing
to surrender to the dark.