Òyì nke e mepụtara

There’s a strange kind of beauty in decay. Not the kind people photograph or romanticize—but the kind you hear when everything starts to fall apart. The quiet distortion in your thoughts. The static between who you were and who you’re becoming. The moments when nothing feels stable, and yet… something real is finally breaking through. We spend so much of our lives trying to be clear, polished, understood. But clarity is overrated. Clarity is safe. And safe things rarely change you. This—this