17 minutes after

17 minutes after, the world feels like it’s caving in. There’s an emptiness that hits harder than any punch—a silence so loud it drowns out everything else. Regret sits heavy in your chest, shame clings to your skin like sweat, and you wonder if anyone would even understand if you tried to explain. But here’s the truth: this moment doesn’t define you. You’re not the failure your mind is trying to convince you of. You’re not unworthy of love just because you slipped. You’re 17 minutes into a war that millions fight quietly every day—and the fact that you’re still breathing, still talking, still here, means you haven’t lost. This isn’t your ending. It’s just a low tide. The wave will rise again. You will rise again. And one day, 17 minutes after will mean something different—proof that you felt the darkness and chose to stay anyway.