[Journal Entry – Date Unknown] I heard someone mention Old Lopin today. Whispers, mostly. I wasn’t even sure they were talking to me. Maybe they weren’t. Two mechanics, half-drunk on modified synthwine, were arguing over which version used to “wake you up for real.” One of them said, “You haven’t had real Lopin unless it cracked your chest open.” The other just laughed like that was the most ridiculous truth. I didn’t join the conversation. I just kept my hands wrapped around my own cup. It was warm, not hot. The label said “Lopin – Neural Calm Formula.” They all say something like that now. I don’t know what Old Lopin tasted like. Some people say it made you remember things you’d buried. Others say it let you imagine futures that felt too sharp, too possible. A pilot once said it made the stars feel like they were inside your lungs. Whatever it was, it scared the right people. So they took it. Boiled it down. Bottled the quiet. Now it just slows you down. Makes the silence ...
Done. Finally did it! I finished it with such a success. Now I can let myself vanished within the bleak loneliness of the space. Yes. Thank god. God? Which one? Once upon a time I was a believer, I remember those day were more peaceful, ain't nobody can disagree with that. It was hard to find out the sublime truth of reality, yes of course its just my reality but you know that's the point, if I believe in my truth, I will feel fading hope. But you get used to it. Nevermind space Yes soon I will use all my knowledge that I gain within 4 years and find my peace, silent joy. I tried hard dude, I really did.
I arrived at 3:30. That specific kind of silence hung in the air, not the peaceful one, but the kind that comes after too much has been said and nothing mattered.The square wasn’t empty, but it felt like it was. People passed. They always do. I didn’t look at their faces. We were supposed to meet here. She had said, “Let’s get a lopin sometime.” That was before the flight. Before I failed to lift the ship. Before I became a ghost inside my own skin. haven’t really spoken since then. Not out loud, anyway. There are words in my head, repeating. Always the same ones. ''It didn’t lift.'' I type it now and it looks so harmless. But it echoes inside me like a scream held underwater. I had educated for four years. Four years. I knew the codes, the sequence, the rhythms of the interface —but my hands... They belonged to someone else that day. I still wear the pilot jacket. It smells like synthetic fabric and old heat. Maybe I keep it on because if I tak...
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