ME is not a book that tells you something.
It’s a book that makes you notice what has always been there —
quietly, patiently, behind the noise you call yourself.

It doesn’t move in a straight line.
It doesn’t ask you to understand.
It simply opens a space where memory, silence, and voice
begin to change places until you can’t tell
which one is doing the listening.

Nothing here is explained,
yet everything feels strangely familiar —
like remembering a thought you never had,
or hearing an echo before the sound exists.

ME is a work you don’t “read.”
You sit with it.
And somewhere between the lines,
something begins to answer you back.