you’re allowed to want more without knowing what “more” is

i’ve had moments where everything seemed fine from the outside, yet something felt slightly, misaligned. conversations felt rehearsed, days looped like background music. i’d sit in rooms that once felt safe and now felt suffocating, smile at stories i didn’t feel part of anymore. and as much as i tried, i couldn’t explain it, why i kept looking at my life like a shirt that once fit but now tugs at the shoulders. it’s a strange, awkward sensation, outgrowing a life before you’ve found your next one. like watching yourself slowly slip out of frame. not quite grief, not quite boredom. almost like nostalgia, but for something that hasn’t happened yet. a throb beneath the skin, tugging at its chains. like the story you’re in no longer has room for the parts of you that haven’t been written yet. the ghost of possibility, hovering in the spaces between your breaths. and you try to reason it away, this hunger, or more accurately, this yearning. the one that isn’t tied to a goal, or a title, or

i’ve had moments where everything seemed fine from the outside, yet something felt slightly, misaligned. conversations felt rehearsed, days looped like background music. i’d sit in rooms that once felt safe and now felt suffocating, smile at stories i didn’t feel part of anymore. and as much as i tried, i couldn’t explain it, why i kept looking at my life like a shirt that once fit but now tugs at the shoulders. it’s a strange, awkward sensation, outgrowing a life before you’ve found your next one. like watching yourself slowly slip out of frame. not quite grief, not quite boredom. almost like