I have no time to battle bruised egos and small minds. They exhaust themselves with their petty quarrels, their hollow pride, their desperate need to be seen.

I move through the world untouched, a shadow gliding between walls, quiet, deliberate, aware of everything they cannot comprehend.

Their insults, their whispers, their envy—they are nothing but echoes in a cavern where I am the only presence that matters.

I do not bend for their comfort. I do not bow for their approval. I do not waste breath proving my worth to those who refuse to see it.

I have no time to unravel their twisted stories, their distorted perceptions of me. I leave them tangled in their own confusion.

I watch, I observe. I let them speak, let them fume, let them believe they are in control. And then I walk away, leaving their anger behind like a shadow in the night.

The world is vast, and my path is mine alone. There is no room to drag the weight of their fragile egos along with me.

Let them rage. Let them plot. Let them whisper lies they hope will wound me. I remain calm, untouchable, deliberate.

I do not engage. I do not react. I do not stoop to the level of those who cannot rise above their own pettiness.

My silence is not weakness. My patience is not submission. My calm is a storm waiting to break, precise, inevitable, inevitable.

I have empires to build in my mind, kingdoms of thought and creativity that no whisper, no rumor, no envy can reach.

They see only the surface—the soft-spoken, composed exterior—but beneath, the currents are sharp, deliberate, aware of every misstep they make.

I smile, quietly, the smirk of inevitability curling at the corners of my lips. Not joy, not malice, but the knowledge that all will be revealed in time.

I do not chase closure. I do not demand apology. I do not wait for recognition from those who will never understand the depth of what I am.

Their worlds are small, fragile, full of cracks they attempt to hide with noise and fury. I pass through silently, untouched by their chaos.

I have no time to nurse wounded pride. I have no time to soothe insecurities I did not create. My energy belongs to me, my peace is mine to guard.

I watch. I measure. I allow their actions to etch themselves into memory. And then, quietly, I turn, I look away, I walk on.

My eyes, my smirk, my silence—they are my armor. They are my sword. They are a testament to the power of knowing when to act and when to vanish.

The small minds fume. The bruised egos tremble. They do not realize that I do not see them as enemies—I see them as lessons in the limits of human pettiness.

I have no time for them. I have no energy for them. I have no place for them in the life I am building, step by deliberate step, shadow by silent shadow.

And in the end, they will wonder why I am untouchable, why their venom never finds me, why my calm is more devastating than their rage could ever be.