Play this as you read through. Slowly. Trust me.
I don’t know how to explain
what it feels like to be the only one who sees it.
to hold something in your head so clearly
you can almost touch it
but when you try to show people
they just blink
and nod
and scroll.
they don’t see it.
not the way i do.
not the way i lie in bed at 3:17am thinking
what if I'm right? what if this thing could actually change something?
not the way i obsess over button colors,
or rewrite the tagline twelve times
because it has to feel like fire in your chest when you read it.
i talk to myself a lot these days.
to the ceiling. to the code.
to the invisible users i swear are out there.
sometimes i whisper,
“please just work. please just load. please just matter.”
sometimes i yell.
at the lag.
at the doubt.
at the silence that follows every launch.
no claps. no feedback.
just me refreshing the page
like maybe this time someone saw it.
someone cared.
they don’t teach you this part.
the part where faith feels like madness.
where belief feels like being lost in a forest
with a map only you can read
and everyone else is just waiting at the parking lot,
saying, “why are you even in there?”
but i’m in here because something is pulling me.
because i know what it could be.
because i’d rather fail building the thing that keeps me up at night
than succeed doing something that doesn’t make me feel alive.
and yeah, maybe i’m young
and maybe i have no idea what i’m doing
but i know what it feels like
to chase something real
when the world keeps handing you filters
and fake dreams
and pre-approved paths.
i didn’t ask for this weight.
i just… saw something.
and now it won’t let go.
so i’ll be the first.
the first to believe.
the first to build in the dark.
and maybe—
just maybe—
the first to prove
i wasn’t wrong to try.
