🧶

She wore a secret beneath her dress, seated deep where no one else could know. They saw a woman sure of herself, mistook the flush for an easy glow.

A weighted plug, snug and out of sight, drawing at her through the day. Every turn, every reach, every chair found a new and subtle way to remind her.

No one guessed the woman making polite talk was wrapped around her own sweet secret, walking slowly just to feel it shift, swallowing words she could never say aloud.

Through crowded rooms and busy streets, each step settled the weight down home. They watched her move, alive and bright, never seeing the ache she carried along.

Then the subway ride, the rattling car, the rails beneath her doing the rest, every jolt and shudder passing through the weight she carried, pressed and pressed.

She rode the edge the whole way home, hands folded neatly in her lap, a still gray mask for strangers’ eyes while something brighter burned beneath.

Each tunnel-rattle wound her tighter, one turn more than before, holding, holding, jaw set hard, one more stop than she could bear.

A stranger swayed an inch away, read her calm, then looked aside, never knowing the quiet woman there was a struck match behind the eyes.

They saw a woman full of life. They had no idea how right they were.