The Weight of Existence

Caught in a beam of sunlight so stark,

the dust dances quietly, each moted spark.

I sit in my room, thoughts swimming in air,

while my mind travels back to what’s living out there.

An old photo surfaces, memory plays,

a ghost of a moment from earlier days.

I’m here, I’m alive, but sometimes I forget,

that the world spins onward, yet my heart feels the debt.

What to do with this breath, this time that I claim?

Each second, a whisper, yet it never feels the same.

I wonder if existence is meant to feel vast,

or just a collection of shadows we cast.