The smiling ones always hold the loudest memories. We laugh the hardest so nobody hears the echo of what hurt us.

People think sorrow has a sad face, But sometimes sorrow is the person cracking jokes, So nobody has to worry.

I wipe my friends’ tears, But i never let them see mine. It’s easier to be the comfort Than the one who needs comforting.

And when the night is loud with rain and wind, That’s when i finally let my tears fall — Because the storm hides them well.

So if you see me smiling, Just know it’s not always happiness. Sometimes it’s my way of saying:

It’s not that i don’t want help. It’s just that my tears feel too heavy, And i’m afraid of adding them to the weight you already carry.

So i smile instead — not to hide the wounds, But because i care too much to let mine bleed onto yours.

You don’t have to fix me or carry my storms for me. Just stay close enough that i don’t have to weather them alone.

I don’t need solutions, Just someone who won’t disappear when the smile slips. Sometimes a quiet presence holds more than a thousand answers Ever could.

There are moments that don’t scream—but they still hurt. Moments when something shifts, quietly. A look that no longer holds warmth. A delay in a message. A conversation that feels suddenly... colder. It’s subtle. Soft. But real.

You feel it in your chest, in the pit of your stomach. That knowing. That quiet whisper: “Something here doesn’t feel right anymore.”

But instead of listening, we silence it. We gaslight ourselves. We call it overreacting. We tell ourselves to be chill, to not make a big deal, to not be too much.

Because somewhere along the way, we learned to betray our own intuition to keep others comfortable.

But here’s the truth: Discomfort is not weakness. Discomfort is information. Your body knows before your mind can explain.

Not everything that hurts leaves a scar you can see. Sometimes it’s the small things. The slow fade of presence. The way they stop making you feel safe—but never say it out loud.

You have every right to feel it. You don’t need proof. You don’t need to explain why it hurts. You don’t owe anyone the version of yourself that stays silent to be loved.

Your boundaries are not dramatic. Your needs are not a burden. Your discomfort is sacred.

You’re not overreacting. You’re just done shrinking.

Now he’s lost in a maze he never built,

trying to remember if softness was ever safe.

She sent the message. But no one replied.

It wasn’t the first time.

But this time, something inside her went quiet.

Not because she stopped caring.

But because she stopped expecting.