The Infinite Starr

(Headphones on-Neoni-Darkside)

I keep thinking about how Starry Night was painted from inside an asylum. People talk about it like that explains everything, like darkness automatically makes something meaningful. Like losing yourself is the same thing as seeing clearly.

That’s not what I notice.

What I notice is the control. The repetition. The way every stroke looks intentional. Nothing about it feels accidental. It doesn’t read like chaos. It reads like someone who finally decided what to look at and what to ignore.

I stopped confessing today.
Not dramatically. I just didn’t feel the need to explain myself anymore.

I realized I had been narrating my thoughts like someone else was grading them. Like if I said things the right way, someone would tell me I was allowed to move on. That I was doing this correctly. But no one ever answered. They just listened long enough to keep watching.

Careful how you talk to yourself. You’re the only one listening.
And eventually, you believe what you repeat.

Not everything that pulls at me is pointing somewhere meaningful. Some things just keep me moving in circles. The things that actually change me don’t announce themselves. They don’t demand attention. They just stay.

This is probably the part where people would say I’m changing. Or getting cold. Or turning into something darker. I don’t feel darker. I feel exact. Like I finally stopped softening my edges so I could be understood.

Nothing fell apart when I stopped explaining. No reaction. No confrontation. Everything stayed exactly where it was. Which tells me the explanations were never for anyone else. They were just habits.

Villain era doesn’t feel like anger.
It feels like not volunteering anymore.

I don’t feel the urge to be seen.
I don’t feel the urge to be forgiven.
I don’t feel the urge to be relatable.

I just feel finished.

If someone asks what changed, I won’t have an answer that fits neatly. I won’t turn it into a lesson. I won’t make it sound gentle.

I’m not becoming worse.
I’m becoming deliberate.

So don’t ask me where the old version went.
Don’t ask what happened.
Don’t ask why I stopped explaining.

This is the part they don’t write about.

I’m still here. And I am coming for what was taken.