Lost Somewhere Between Silence and Static Some days, my head feels like a radio between stations a blur of half-formed prayers and broken jokes, flickering through every version of me that ever tried to make sense of the noise. I keep thinking I’ve arrived somewhere, but the road bends again, and the signs start asking questions I’m too tired to answer. Maybe I’ve never been lost— just paused mid-transformation, like the second before a thought takes shape, or the breath before confession. I carry contradictions like constellations: a little chaos, a little calm, a pulse that beats too loud and a voice that won’t stay quiet. I used to chase understanding— now I chase feeling, the raw electric hum that reminds me I’m still alive, still unfinished, still capable of wonder in the middle of the static.