Cluttered rooms, Book stacked like towers. torn pages peak out from haphazard piles, the scent of age paper hangs in the air. Each spine a loud whisper, bearing the suffocating weight of untold stories. Admits the noise, knowledge pressing down, heavy like stones. Relentless questions gnawing at my temple. Anxiety wrapped tight around my fragile heart. Reading Epictetus. Dim lights bounce off my curiosity. what does it mean to stay a student? I questioned. Each misstep a doorway, each failure leading me deeper into a labyrinth. Shifting through rubble. Buried beneath echoes, lingering in silent thoughts. Sorrow broke through every crack upon the clay flooring. The soul, a canvas smeared with grief, each stroke a challenge, every question an engulfed flame of understanding. Burning my guilt of propaganda. What will I cultivate in the haunting chaos of my thoughts? A seeker in shadows the rawness of being alone. A clarity nestled into a breath, a compassionate connection. Existence woven in threads of knowledge in a world that I question if it aches for wisdom?