The Contrast Between Living And Surviving

The curtains had remained closed for too long that Emma couldn't tell apart between sunrise and sunset anymore. Dust had transformed into an appendage —stuck in untouched books, cold coffee cups , and windows that seemed to have been closed for eternity. The sink overflowed with untouched dishes, the kitchen cupboards hanged wide open , and her phone screen remained dark beside her.The harmless chirping of birds and footsteps behind her walls felt like torture, as it felt unfamiliar. She hated movement. She hated sound. The rain tapping on her window sill disturbed the silence that consumed the apartment day after day. Outside her window, that dust had settled into like forgotten memories, life continued in restless motion— distant laughter echoing through the cold atmosphere, kids playing in the park, friends meeting up for lunch, and footsteps fading into places she once couldn't stay away from. For years, Emma mistook survival for living. She locked herself in a cage, slipped the keys into her own pockets , and still wondered why nobody came to save her.

At this point, she was no longer numb. She was no longer lonely. She was depleted. She was lost —lost in the darkness of the abyss she created for herself. Time became hearsay to her after that. Days blurred into cold nights, and nights stretched endlessly into empty mornings she never witnessed. Forgotten memories echoed down the corridors she no longer stepped into. The apartment grew smaller each day, with it's dim ,cold corners swallowing her little by little. While she succumbed to the abyss she created for herself, the world outside continued moving in endless motion with no doubt. Children still ran down the hallways. Neighbors still greeted each other every morning. Cars still drove past her house. The world was still alive and still breathing as she left it. A sudden, heavy realization that left her heart beating like it's a playground for wild animals, then struck her —the world didn't stop living, she did.

One evening, during the golded hour, Emma finally rose up from bed she had been stuck to for years–leaving a souvenir as contrast to the change she's about to let in. She opened the curtains. Sunlight spilled into the dark corners of the apartment. At first, she was no different to a vampire–as the sunlight felt unfamiliar and detrimental to her eyes that were only used to darkness. The dust that had been floating aimlessly in space got illuminated. That was big change for Emma. For the first time in years, the silence no longer felt safe ; it felt lonely. She stood near the window she once avoided , admiring the beauty she secluded herself from for years. The chirping of the birds, cars moving past rain-soaked streets, footsteps of school kids running after the school bus made her feel alive —which was something her nervous system wasn't familiar with. It turns out she got it all wrong — isolation wasn't protection; it was concealment from the actual truth. The cage has never truly been locked. The abyss wasn't as profound as she thought. Her palms started to sweat as she reached for the keys, uncertain of what awaited her beyond that door that has been locked for eternity. At last, she understood, that blooming is not becoming someone new—it is finally allowing yourself to exist fully,and healing doesn't begin within the same atmosphere that swallowed you.