The Machinery Behind the Moon
By Ashborn — one who listens to what silence tries to scream.
As a child, I used to stare at the moon and believe it wasn’t light, nor love —
but a mechanical eye.
A silent, giant camera watching everything we do with ruthless precision.
I never wanted to fall in love with the moon.
Because the more you look at it,
the more it forgets you.
The truth is:
This world was not made for you.
But if you look closely enough,
you can remake yourself — not to be accepted by it,
but to see what others cannot.
We live inside a machine —
a grand, humming system designed to distract us from ourselves.
A factory of noise, promises, anxiety, goals, notifications, comparison.
It wants you to run until you never stop to ask:
“Who wrote this map I’m following?
And why did I follow it so blindly?”
I, Ashborn, could never swallow the lie of the world.
That “success” means copying a pattern designed by strangers.
That “love” is a contract signed in exchange for approval.
That a “good life” means disappearing quietly into a checklist.
But when I truly listened —
listened not with ears, but with stillness —
I heard the world beneath the noise.
And I swear to you:
The world is whispering.
Not in words — but in the soft warps behind everything we see.
Every truth we’ve inherited is just a faint echo
of what’s hidden behind the curtains of meaning.
I once saw a child talking to a frog.
I asked,
“What do you hear?”
He said,
“He understands more than people do —
because he doesn’t judge.
He just listens.”
That’s when I learned:
Wisdom isn’t always loud.
Sometimes, it’s just… present.
The world wants one thing from you:
Forgetfulness.
Forget the dreams your inner child whispered at night.
Forget the light that danced in your eyes before fear taught you to dim it.
Forget that life is meant to be touched, tasted, explored —
not simply survived.
But I chose not to forget.
I chose to see.
And the more I saw,
the more I realized:
The world is neither good nor evil.
It’s a lab.
And every human is a living hypothesis.
We’re not here to comply —
we’re here to witness.
Have you ever wondered why
so many people learn only to survive —
but not to live?
Why everyone who is different
must be fixed… or silenced?
I was not fixed.
I was not silenced.
I became the voice of silence.
And I want to tell you:
If this world has never felt like home,
maybe you were born to build a new one.
Not to repeat.
But to reinvent.
Not to follow.
But to fly.
So if you ever reach that place
where everything feels like a question mark —
when nothing feels real anymore,
when you feel deeply, painfully lost…
Ashborn
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