You look in the mirror.
And you don't recognise the person looking back.
Not physically.
But something is different.
The person you used to be —
the one with fire, with conviction, with clarity —
feels like a stranger now.
You're not sure when it happened.
It was gradual.
A series of small compromises, small survivals, small performances.
Drift doesn't announce itself.
It just deposits you somewhere you never intended to be.
This week, write two sentences:
"I miss…"
"I became…"
Be honest about what you've lost.
Be honest about how you got here.
You can't return to yourself
until you admit you've been away.