what the silence taught me

i wake up tired, though i slept through the night, dragging my feet through the day like a fight. books stacked like walls, numbers that blur, i read the same pages, but don't know what occurred.   they say, “just try, just do your best” but what if my best still isn’t enough ? what if the weight i carry inside makes even the smallest steps feel like a climb?   i fear their eyes, those kind, proud eyes, what if one day they just see the lies? the smile i wear, the "i'm fine" i say, when i cry in silence at the end of the day.   i don't want pity, or a spotlight glow,  just want someone to quietly know that sometimes i'm drowning, though i stand tall, and sometimes i break with no one to call.   my heart is loud, but my face is still, i laugh too quick, but feel too real. i'm scared to fall, scared to lose, scared they'll say, “you had your chance to choose” but i didn’t choose the fear, or the ache, i didn’t ask for the nights i break.   ...

 when i came here, everything felt too big, the streets, the silence, the space between me and home. i missed the noise, my siblings laughing, arguing over nothing, leaving behind pieces of love in their chaos. i missed my mother her voice, her touch, the way she knew when i was tired even through a screen. how her hugs made everything feel smaller, safer. and i missed him. the one who used to hold my hand like it was a promise. his texts, his voice, the way he always knew how to make me laugh, even on the worst days. then the lights went out for three whole days. no signal, no calls just me, the dark, and everything i felt. i cried the first night, and the second too. no one knew. it felt like the whole world forgot me. but on the third day, i heard myself in the silence, in the stillness. not strong, but trying. and that was enough. i’m still lonely sometimes, still miss them all every laugh, every touch, every word i wish i could hear again. but i’m learning to hold it, to let i...