My pulse keeps its rhythm,

The clock on the wall still turns.

I walk into spaces, I speak, I smile,

I stand at the exact coordinates of my routine,

But somehow, the map inside is entirely blank.

 

Am I breathing, or is the air just passing through?

I see the world rushing by -

A loud blur of faces, screens, and hurried steps.

Yet, I feel completely still,

A silent observer of my own life.

 

I try to 'manage' the days,

To draw borders around my time and worldly duties.

But how do you anchor a ship that has lost its weight?

 

They ask for my presence, and I offer them a shadow.

I look in the mirror and the question stays:

Is this survival, or just a very slow departure?

 

I am floating in the gray space between existing and fading,

Neither fully tied to this earth, nor completely gone.

 

If the body moves, but the spirit stands still,

I wonder,

Am I alive, or just an echo waiting to fade?