A.S. Thorne

There’s a certain kind of fog that doesn’t just cling to the world – it settles into you.
It doesn’t arrive all at once, either. It seeps in. Slow. Patient. Familiar.

You start noticing it in the small ways first:
the unread messages, the coffee gone cold (or in my case, watered down), the way light doesn’t quite reach the corners of the room anymore.
You tell yourself it’s just the weather – a passing cloud, a stretch of gray skies.
But deep down, you recognize the texture of it.
You’ve walked through this fog before.

Depression has a way of disguising itself as rest.
It whispers, stay home today.
It convinces you that you’re tired, that you’ve earned this silence.
And maybe you have – God knows we all need quiet sometimes.
But when the quiet stops feeling peaceful and starts feeling like a weight pressing down on your chest,
that’s when you realize the fog’s not outside anymore. It’s in your lungs.

I’ve been here again lately – in the season where sunlight feels thin,
where everything I write feels hollow,
where I question if any of it matters.
And I know I’m not the only one.
There’s something about this time of year that calls the ghosts back home.

But here’s what I’ve learned walking through this place again and again:
You don’t have to slay the darkness.
You just have to remember that even monsters get lonely.

Maybe the fog never truly leaves – maybe it’s part of the landscape.
But we can learn to move through it together,
one trembling breath at a time.

If you’re reading this from inside the fog: I see you.
You’re not failing. You’re not broken. You’re just walking through the mist –
and even if you can’t see the path ahead right now,
I promise the ground is still beneath your feet.

You’re still here.
And that matters.

🖤A.S. Thorne🖤

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I’ve been quieter than usual lately. The truth is, I’ve been tired — not the kind of tired that sleep fixes, but the kind that sinks a little deeper. Writing this was my way of remembering that the fog doesn’t mean I’ve failed — it just means I’m still human, still feeling. If you’ve been quiet too, maybe this is your reminder that you’re not alone in it. Sometimes survival looks like breathing through the mist and trusting it will thin again

🕯️ If you’ve felt this too, leave a candle in the comments. For all of us still walking through the mist.