Sometimes the self is just a delicate layer, a shadow over the eyes, a thought barely holding on, yet able to split you in half. It shapes you into something beautiful, so much so… that you start to believe it. That maybe you are light, that maybe it all makes sense. And then it takes all of it and rearranges it inside. And you’re no longer sure if it’s really you, or just an echo of someone once dreamt. The self is soft. Too soft. You can sink into it. You can fall in love with it to death. It can save you and in the very same breath completely destroy you. But no one tells you that, because everyone thinks it’s just her. But it’s the whole world. neuralartistry.art | 5376 x 3584 | JPG | created 2025