I learned the light before I learned my name, how to follow, how to frame the dark. Every answer came already shaped, every silence filled before it could start. Hands were guiding from above my head, soft instructions dressed as truth. Every doubt was something to outgrow, every question something to remove. But something stayed beneath the words, a quiet I could never reach — a space untouched by all the lines they handed down to me. Unlearn the light, let it fall from your eyes. You don’t need a way to be alive. Unlearn the light, leave the voice behind. You don’t need a name for what you find. So I spoke in borrowed certainty, wore conviction like a second skin. Every room echoed agreement back, every mirror closed me in. I could feel it in the quiet gaps, something breaking through the seams — not a truth that asked to be believed, just the end of needing one to lean on. And the noise began to thin, like a tide pulling out of me, leaving nothing in its place but an unfamiliar clarity. Unlearn the light, let it fall from your eyes. You don’t need a way to be alive. Unlearn the light, leave the voice behind. You don’t need a name for what you find. Not every darkness needs a flame. Not every silence needs a sound. Maybe nothing was missing. Maybe nothing was ever lost. Now the air moves differently, no direction, no demand. Every breath arrives unclaimed, every moment leaves my hands. There is no one left to follow, no reflection to correct — only this unsteady rhythm, and a space I don’t reject. It doesn’t answer. It doesn’t guide. But it no longer needs to hide. Unlearn the light… let it fall from your eyes… You don’t need a way… to be alive… Unlearn the light… leave the voice behind… You don’t need a name… for what you find…
