Who am I without the melancholy, the nostalgia, the yearning, the overthinking, the anxiety, and the regret? I've carried these emotions for so long that they've become the language my soul speaks. They live in the way I think, the way I love, the way I remember. Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to wake up one morning without the weight of the past pressing on my chest, without my mind replaying moments that are long gone. But then, a strange fear creeps in-what if all this sadness is what makes me who | am? What if without the ache, the longing, and the restless thoughts, I become someone l no longer recognize? Maybe peace sounds beautiful, but I'm not sure I'd know how to live without the chaos that built me.