We were four,
a balanced kind of chaos,
laughing in even numbers.

But now,
it feels like three voices
always reach the other first.
Three steps ahead,
three inside jokes,
three plans whispered
just loud enough.

They say, "It's just for now,"
that I'm still one of them.
But even when books are closed,
their world keeps spinning,
and I'm left
outside of gravity.

Sometimes I wonder,
is it them who've changed?
Or have I?

I love being their friend.
I love them.
But I hate being the silence
in a room
full of noise
that once included me.

They said I talk like I swallowed the sky,
like stars slip from my mouth
when I'm not looking.

But I never noticed.

I was too busy counting cracks
on sidewalks,
too busy hiding the sparkle
I thought didn't belong.

Turns out,
I was made of glittering things.
Not loud, not showy,
just soft-spark stardust
in messy hair
and tired eyes.

And maybe,
that's magic too.

At 6:45 it screams:
“GET UP. You’ve wasted enough.”
At 7:00,
it sighs,
“You’ll be late, again. As always.”

I think it judges
my mismatched socks
and the way I stare at the wall
like I’m waiting
for permission
to exist.

It’s just plastic and wires,
but somehow it knows
I haven’t felt like
a person
in weeks.

So I unplug it.
Throw it in the drawer.
Now the silence
wakes me louder
than it ever did.

I miss the girl
with the quiet heart,
the one who smiled
before the world taught her
how to flinch.

I whisper,
What have I done?
like it’ll undo the storm,
like guilt can rewind time
if I feel it hard enough.

Hands shaky,
eyes red,
I look for the path
back to who I was,
small, soft,
still believing
that good things stay.

But the mirror only shows
a stranger with my face,
cracked wide with shame
and too many
I’m sorrys
stuck in her throat.

I want to go back.
To the version of me
who didn’t flinch at her own reflection.
To the version of me
who hadn’t yet broken
what couldn’t be unbroken.

But maybe…
maybe the road back
isn’t about time travel.
Maybe it’s choosing,
every day,
to hold that little girl’s hand,
not abandon her
in the dark I created.

Maybe I can still be her.
Not the same,
but braver.
Because I’ve seen
what pain does
and I still want
to be kind.