Just Walking Through a Night Without Answers

The words I couldn't inhale are grating like sand deep in my lungs.
Things I couldn't say.
Things I shouldn't have said.
The corpses of emotions I swallowed to prioritize being 'correct'.
They carry too much gravity inside my body, making it hard to breathe properly.
At dusk, when I suddenly stopped on the train platform, I was struck by a strange sensation, as if my own outline were floating slightly away from the world.
Perhaps we spent too much time today searching for the 'right answer'.
The smartphone screen flickers.
Instant replies, efficiency, conclusion-first.
'So, what are you going to do?' 'What's the evidence?'
In the gaps between the neatly arranged logic, the small sense of discomfort—the 'this doesn't feel right' I actually wanted to scream—was drowned out by the sound of the ventilation fan.
My mind is as cluttered as a conference room after a meeting has ended.
Someone else's expectations and my own true feelings lie tangled on the floor.
So now, I think I'll head outside, as if turning off a switch.
The moment I opened the door, the cold air didn't slap my cheeks; it gently brushed against them.
The night air is surprisingly clear and smells faintly of earth.
Only the sound of my shoes hitting the asphalt keeps a rhythm: tap, tap.
That monotonous sound is slowly cooling down my overheated brain.
The weight of my heavy coat.
The unreliable warmth of my hand tucked inside my pocket.
The low sound of the last train echoing in the distance.
It doesn't need to have meaning.
It doesn't need to be productive.
Right now, this sensation of 'cold' is the only certain truth for me.
As I walk, I can feel my body slowly unraveling.
The tension in my shoulders releases, and my clenched jaw relaxes.
We are not robots.
We cannot always return the correct output for every input.
It's okay to be lost, and it's okay to stop.
Because that 'unorganized thinking' is proof that you lived today with sincerity.
The light from a vending machine dimly illuminates my feet.
I could buy a warm drink, or I could choose not to.
No one will blame me regardless of which I choose.
I let out a single, long breath of white mist.
It shimmered like smoke and dissolved into the darkness of the night.
I still didn't have an answer.
But I feel like my breathing has become just a little bit deeper.
For now, I can just go to sleep, holding onto that space.