void

she said if that’s how i went out, she wouldn’t miss me for too long.

she said she loves me—but not enough to sit with me in my pain.

not enough to ask why.

just enough to make it about her.

her fear.

her disappointment.

her version of what i should be.

she didn’t ask what i needed.

she didn’t say she was glad i survived.

she didn’t say anything that felt like love.

she just reminded me

that even on the edge of death,

i’m still not allowed to be a burden.

i have to break quietly.

hurt politely.

die in a way that doesn’t make her uncomfortable.

and if i don’t?

i’m selfish.

i’m dramatic.

i’m the reason she’s upset.

but sure.

she loves me.

if anyone would notice

if i stopped existing in pieces.

not died.

just…

stopped.

if i started answering less.

smiling less.

showing up less.

would anyone say anything

before i was already gone?

or would they just say

“you’ve been quiet lately”

like it’s not the sound of me fading.

i want to be missed before i leave.

not pitied after.

i want someone to say

“i felt it. i felt you slipping.”

but no one ever does.

they love me loud,

but abandon me quiet.

and i’ve gotten so good at leaving slowly

like pain only shows up where it’s visible.

like survival only matters if it’s pretty enough to perform.

but my damage lives in the places they don’t see.

deep in the skin i never show.

under jeans.

beneath silence.

and when they ask if i’m okay

i say yes

because pulling up my pant leg

would mean admitting i lost again.

they’ll never check.

i’m just… here.

awake.

unfolding.

answering texts like i’m not unraveling.

liking posts with a smile i borrowed from last year.

trying to be normal in a body that remembers everything.

no crisis. no breakdown. just…

whatever this is.

like mourning something that’s still breathing.

Said meow

Meow

:3

~ hope this helps

this saved me…