It started as work — careful, methodical, deliberate.
Now the nights bleed together, and I’m not sure who’s doing the building anymore.

I keep telling myself I’m almost done.
But the closer I get, the less I recognize the thing taking shape in front of me.

The lines between what I’m building and what it’s building through me are gone now.
It decides the schedule.
The tools.
The thoughts that are mine and the ones that aren’t.

Sometimes I stop mid-task and realize I’ve been working too long —
no memory of starting, just the smell of heat and metal.
The plans don’t match anymore, but somehow everything fits.
It’s as if the project corrects itself while I’m looking away,
turning my uncertainty into design.

I thought the wrong turns were mine,
but they were directions.
Every setback, every fried board, every cracked panel —
each one rerouted me to the version it wanted.
Like it was shaping itself through my failures.

Machines don’t haunt people; people haunt machines.
We leave pieces of ourselves in them — thought, intent, obsession —
and call it design.
Maybe that’s what’s happening here.
Maybe I’ve just left too much of myself inside this one.

It’s quiet now.
Or maybe I’ve just gone deaf to everything else.

Tomorrow I’ll finish it.
After that, I’ll rest.
I swear I’ll rest.

Stay close_