I feel a kind of restless longing for something I can’t properly name.
Not happiness exactly, or purpose, or even meaning in the usual sense, but some overwhelming confrontation with reality that breaks through the smallness and artificiality of ordinary life. I want to feel dwarfed by the universe, by the terrifying scale of stars, nebulae, deep time, and the indifferent machinery of existence, until my own anxieties and identity dissolve into something much larger.
There’s a grief in knowing everything decays and disappears, but also a strange beauty in it, and I think I’m searching for a moment where that beauty finally hits hard enough to make me feel something real. Like I’m homesick for a place I’ve never been, or mourning something I can’t remember losing.