I miss
the way he called me
“My love.”

I miss
the late-night calls,
his voice soft and sleepy,
but still for me.

I miss
the arms
that never held me—
yet somehow felt like home.

I miss
the voice that whispered,
“It’s gonna be okay,”
when nothing else could reach me.

I miss
his gentle “Hmm, that’s great,”
his casual "Hii”
like it meant everything—
and somehow, it did.

I miss
his quiet presence,
comforting,
even in silence.

I miss
his cheesiness,
the way he'd make me blush
with just a line.

And it’s not that he left me.
He didn’t.
But I miss him—
in every second,
in every thought.
He's everywhere,
except here.

I don’t get it—
how people run to their parents
when life gets hard.
How they’re met with open arms,
soft voices, safety.

I used to dream of that.
Of running to mine,
of hiding behind them like a child—
because I was a child.

I wanted to cry in their arms,
to fall apart
and be held together.
But I never could.

There was no softness there.
No arms to catch me,
only the weight of silence,
the sharp edge of being too much.

So I ran.
Not toward them,
but away—
as far as I could
just to find peace.

If the older ones cry,
They get a hug.....
if i cried, i got a lecture.
I always appear strong,
even when I'm silently breaking inside.
They say,"you're the youngest, you should understand"
But who should understand me?
I wiped everyone's tears,
but mine were called weakness.
In being their strength,
I forgot how to ask for help

Maybe in another universe
I wouldn't be so sensitive
I wouldn't be so emotionally dependent
I wouldn't take everything to heart
I wouldn't minimize my feelings
And i wouldn't lose myself

When you try to vent
to your parents,
it’s like banging your head
against a brick wall—
one you know won’t move,
one you know
will only make you bleed more.

But still,
you push.
You try to shift it,
to make them understand
that you’re tired,
that you’re drowning
in this numbness
that’s eating you alive.

And they ignore it.
Brush it off.
Turn away.

So eventually,
you stop.
You shut down.
You stop offering pieces of yourself
to people who never looked
closely enough to see them.

You become a blank page
in front of them—
no stories,
no pain,
no you...

Strict parents have obedient children?
Actually no they have children who
Don't feel safe in their own home
Who flinch at loud noises
Who get scared when someone gets too close
Who scream when someone appears randomly
Who shriek when someone tries to touch them
Who go numb in arguments
Who will stare at you when you shout
Who dare to live even in distress
Who will stay awake all night
Who spend their life trying to be the best
Who are ignored unlike the rest
Abandoned , shattered ,
Stressed , always anxious......