I was lying on my side when I finished it.   Not the dignified, upright posture of a “serious reader.” Just me, the phone slipping slightly in my hand, one knee drawn up, the fan making that familiar uneven sound it makes when it’s been on too long. Evening had already crossed into night. My first thought wasn’t insight. It was quieter.   So this is why my days feel unfinished.   I didn’t think of time. I thought of energy. Specifically, where mine had been leaking without my

I remember finishing this book on an ordinary afternoon—and feeling unexpectedly still.   Not the triumphant stillness of motivation, but the quieter kind. The kind that comes when someone has spoken honestly enough that your defences don’t know where to stand anymore. I was seated, book resting face-down, noticing my shoulders had dropped. As if something inside me had been allowed to exhale.   Limitless didn’t rush toward me waving answers. It waited. And then, very calmly,