Max Fry • stare at the sun [Slowed//Reverb + 432Hz].

Описание: i was always the one watching the game from behind the chain-link fence before anyone knew there were rules. born too early for softness but just in time for the wreckage. there’s something irreversible about learning distance before you learn welcome. i don’t remember when the drifting began, only that it never stopped. some people walk into rooms and fill them. i walk into rooms and study the exits. every conversation a calculation. every friendship a quietly burning bridge i’m already preparing to swim from. it wasn’t drama. it wasn’t pride. it was the slow knowledge that the world made more sense when i wasn’t in the center of it. not rejected. not forgotten. just orbiting. quiet. watching people learn lessons i buried years ago. i knew about betrayal before birthdays meant anything. i knew how to say “i’m okay” with the precision of a surgeon. people admired me for how calm i was, how mature. they didn’t see how being left out becomes a skill. how emotional exile trains you to stay composed even when you’re starving for connection. you learn to water yourself with nothing. learn to clap for others through glass. learn to become fluent in the language of pretending. there are things i’ve outgrown that were never mine to wear in the first place. childhoods i borrowed just to understand what people meant by play. i was the kid who always looked tired in school photos. the one who laughed on cue but blinked too slow. the one who remembered everything because forgetting would’ve been a luxury. and maybe that’s the wound that shaped me—the way life asked me to carry meaning before i even knew how to spell it. the way i learned to read between the lines before anyone wrote them for me. and even now, when people say things like “you’re so wise for your age” i want to ask them if they know what that actually costs. if they understand the kind of silence you have to survive to become that person. i don’t wish for a different past. i just wish the weight of knowing hadn’t come so soon. i wish someone would’ve said “you don’t have to understand everything to belong.” because being early to grief means being late to almost everything else. it means standing still while the world thinks you’re ahead. and i’ve spent so many years catching glimpses of myself in windows i wasn’t invited into. wondering if i’d ever be naive again. if there’s still time to feel things without dissecting them. to laugh without translating it. to cry without making it a lesson. but maybe this is the shape of survival. maybe being far removed wasn’t punishment. maybe it was proof. that i could keep going without applause. that i could grow even in exile. that distance isn’t the opposite of connection. it’s the birthplace of vision. and i’ve seen things most people won’t until it’s too late to change them. i still believe in warmth. in late bloom. in making something holy out of the ache. not because i was built for it. but because even silence has a pulse if you stay long enough. even the far edges of the map hum when you put your ear to them. and maybe i was always meant to begin where others end. not to be apart from life. but to witness it from the place where it reveals what it’s truly made of.