There is a quiet honesty in the things you reach for without thinking. The shade you always scroll back to, the images that feel like home, the moods you can’t quite explain—these are the places your nervous system finally stops pretending. They remember who disappointed you, who softened you, and what you now expect from the world.
You don’t need another label to pin yourself under, and this isn’t a test that turns you into someone new. It’s more like a light flicking on in a room you’ve been walking through in the dark. You see the dents in the walls, the softness of the couch, the door you never open. Nothing here saves you, but it does something quieter: it shows you where you actually live, and asks whether you’re willing to stay.
