The Hollow Hours

He moves through the day like a ghost in his own skin. The world keeps talking, but none of it lands.

He smiles when he has to. He nods when he should. Inside, everything is static.

He doesn’t want saving. He just wants the noise to stop. He wants a moment that feels real and doesn’t hurt to hold.

He stands in the kitchen at midnight staring at the light in the fridge like it might tell him something.

It doesn’t. But he keeps looking anyway.