I tell myself it is small
a flicker, a passing shadow
something that will loosen its grip
if I refuse to name it
but my body speaks in heavier truths
in quiet aches that linger too long
in the way mornings arrive already tired
as if the night forgot to end
loneliness sits beside me
not loud, not cruel
just patient
like it knows I will not leave
I carry whole conversations inside my chest
ones that never reach the air
they echo against bone and breath
until even silence feels crowded
there are days I measure strength
in smaller and smaller pieces
getting up
drinking water
pretending I am not afraid
and I am afraid
of the word I avoid
of the weight it gathers
every time I say it is nothing
because it is not nothing
it is a slow insistence
a quiet rebellion under my skin
a truth my body refuses to soften
still I look outward
and see suffering that dwarfs my own
people breaking under heavier skies
people with no space to fall apart
and guilt grows where comfort should be
like I have stolen pain I did not earn
like I should be grateful enough
to cancel out the hurt
but pain does not compare itself kindly
it does not shrink out of politeness
it stays
it roots
it asks to be felt
so I stand in the middle of it all
half drowning, half stubborn
telling the dark it will not have me
even as it rises
there is something in me
thin as a thread
but unbroken
it pulls
when everything else lets go
and maybe that is what living is
not winning
not healing all at once
but refusing to disappear
even when the tide climbs higher
even when the body trembles
even when the quiet becomes unbearable
I am still here
not whole
not certain
but here
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