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513
The Weight of Silence.
<p>I was already gone before I realized I was leaving.</p><p>It wasn't dramatic, it was expected.</p><p><br/></p><p>Lately I'd begun stretching my lips into smiles that didn't reach my eyes. Getting out of bed felt like a struggle between myself and sleep paralysis.</p><p><br/></p><p>Reels became my reals.</p><p>I watched people live while I forgot how to. Surprisingly, I wasn't envious, I was numb.</p><p><br/></p><p>I had to beg God before I could care for my needs.</p><p><br/></p><p>“I'm happy for you o, this one that you've been laughing since morning.”</p><p><br/></p><p>She didn't notice my pain, no one did. It was hidden in places I'd even stopped checking. </p><p><br/></p><p>An archaeologist came to me, she brushed past the surface gently, uncovering things I had long buried—things I never named. I'm spiralling again, she noticed. She dug deeper. </p><p><br/></p><p>Then, she said, tell me everything.</p><p>I didn't know there were things to tell.</p><p>I didn't know what was wrong.</p><p>I didn't understand it.</p><p>She did.</p><p>“I'll listen, just tell me everything.”</p><p><br/></p><p>Slowly, she began pulling at the knots that formed in my chest. Unraveling them like a skilled rope artist.</p><p><br/></p><p>I froze </p><p>My chest tightened.</p><p>My throat burned.</p><p>And then—the tears came. The same ones I fought so hard not to shed.</p><p><br/></p><p>This time however, they felt like something close to healing.</p><p><br/></p><p>I didn’t save myself. I couldn't.</p><p>And maybe that’s the part we don’t say out loud enough.</p><p>Sometimes, healing doesn’t come from within.</p><p>Sometimes—it comes from the one person</p><p>who refuses to let you become a memory while you’re still breathing.</p><p>If you have someone like that…hold them gently.</p><p>And if you are that person for someone—thank you.</p><p><br/></p><p>You are the reason</p><p>someone is still here</p>
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