You’ve stumbled upon the words of a broken mind. I’m not here to offer comfort or hope. I write to confront the darkest parts of myself and bury the last fragments of light that refuse to die.

Fleeting Breeze is not a story of healing. It is a testament to destruction. If you choose to read it, know that you are not witnessing a journey toward redemption—you are witnessing the act of erasing hope.

I do not write to save myself. I write to kill the part of me that still believes in salvation.