You’re scared. You’re hurt. You laugh without even feeling it. You want to tell the world. But every time you try to, they tell you you’re okay. But you’re not and it hurts.
You smile. You bring light. You keep going. You want them to take notice. You’re just tired, they say. But you’re not and you feel it.
The sadness will go away, or so you thought. How could you cry at night, when you know you could be happy even at the thought of the smallest things. But now you’re not and you know where it’s leading to.
You want to run away, and drop it all off. But how could you, when you still dream of things and of love. You think there is hope. You are just confused, they say. But you’re not and it’s taking too long.
Maybe you could tell somebody. But when you look, everyone else is fighting their own battles. You try to stay quiet. You must be lucky, they say. But you’re not. How could they say that.
You close your eyes. The pain is still there. Everything seems more cloudy now. You are a strong person, they say. But you’re not and it’s getting scarier now.