All pieces

You keep calling something beautiful because admitting it has become lonely, unhealthy, or over would make it real. The garden stays alive in your head while the real thing quietly dies.

The lie is: if it still looks beautiful, it cannot be hurting me.

You keep calling something beautiful because admitting it has become lonely, unhealthy, or over would make it real. The garden stays alive in your head while the real thing quietly dies.

The lie is: if it still looks beautiful, it cannot be hurting me.

You see the evidence. You know what the truth is. But you keep choosing the story that lets you stay, because the truth would mean losing what you needed to believe in.

It is not about being foolish. It is about needing something to be real badly enough that you keep feeding the lie.

You hide from the truth until your own face feels unfamiliar. After living inside the lie for too long, you cannot recognize the person who has been keeping it alive.

The piece is about avoidance, self-erasure, and the distance between your body and your sense of self.

The lie that there is a final version of you who will never be rejected, confused, or hurt. You keep checking, editing, and watching yourself, trying to find the flaw that explains why you do not feel okay.

But the question never closes. You keep reopening it because perfection feels like it might finally make you safe.

You see the evidence. You know what the truth is. But you keep choosing the story that lets you stay, because the truth would mean losing what you needed to believe in.

It is not about being foolish. It is about needing something to be real badly enough that you keep feeding the lie.