I sent a sad face,
he sent nothing.
Eight hours of silence
and a filtered selfie
as if my feelings
were too inconvenient
to be acknowledged.

He didn’t ask what was wrong.
He never really did.
He liked the softness,
but never the substance.

He liked being wanted,
but never wanted to show up.
Not when I was vulnerable,
not when I was hurting,
not when I needed more
than a snap of his bed
or a half laugh in my face.

I gave chances in silence,
forgiveness without apology.
I held space where he gave absence.
And still, I stayed.
Until staying
started to hurt more
than the leaving ever could.

So I didn’t block him.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t write a final message.
I just disappeared
the way he always did
when it was my turn to speak.

Let him wonder
why the snaps stopped.
Let him feel the stillness
he used to ignore.

Let him stare at the pending
and realize I’m not.
Not waiting.
Not hoping.
Not folding back into someone
who forgot how to hold me.

I may not have closure,
but I have clarity.

And if silence is the only language
he ever taught me,
then let him hear it
loud and clear.

La palabra te extraño no es suficiente para expresar la falta que me haces todos los días.

Te extraño,
y me da coraje admitirlo.
Porque sé que no lo mereces,
sé que no hiciste nada para quedarte.

Pero igual,
me haces falta a veces.
No por lo que fuiste,
sino por lo que yo imaginé contigo.

Me duelen tus silencios,
más que tus palabras.
Porque yo te hablé con el alma,
y tú solo mirabas la pantalla.

No debería pensarte,
pero lo hago.
No debería quererte,
pero hay días que todavía lo siento.

Y aquí estoy,
luchando conmigo misma
para no buscarte,
aunque el corazón me pida que sí.

When I look in the mirror,
I don’t see what they see.
They say I’m cute,
beautiful,
good looking
but none of that ever felt like me.

I wasn’t like this before.
As a kid, I never questioned my reflection,
never measured my worth
by the shape of my face
or the size of my waist.
But somewhere along the way,
the world made me doubt.

The older I get,
the more I shrink into shadows
of what I think I should be.
Pretty, but not enough.
Desired, but only if I fit
some picture perfect fantasy
they scroll past
and save to their dreams.

They say looks don’t matter,
but their eyes speak first
long before their mouths ever do.
And I’m tired.
Tired of pretending I don’t notice.
Tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt.

My brother’s voice still echoes
She’s not worth the wait.
When I look in the mirror,
I don’t see what they see.
They say I’m cute,
beautiful,
good looking
but none of that ever felt like me.

I wasn’t like this before.
As a kid, I never questioned my reflection,
never measured my worth
by the shape of my face
or the size of my waist.
But somewhere along the way,
the world made me doubt.

The older I get,
the more I shrink into shadows
of what I think I should be.
Pretty but not enough.
Desired but only if I fit
some picture perfect fantasy
they scroll past
and save to their dreams.

They say looks don’t matter,
but their eyes speak first
long before their mouths ever do.
And I’m tired.
Tired of pretending I don’t notice.
Tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt.

My brother’s voice still echoes
She’s not worth the wait.
Ugly.
Words not meant for me to hear,
but now I carry them
like a bruise beneath my skin.
Even makeup can’t cover that.

I straighten my hair,
dress like I’m trying to matter,
smile like I’m confident.
But inside I still feel unseen.
Still feel less.

My ex warned me:
If you gain more weight, I’ll leave.
As if love had a number,
as if my worth was on a scale.
He gained weight too,
but I guess his mirror
was more forgiving than mine.

He’s gone.
But the damage stayed.

Now, when old crushes reach out,
I disappear.
I’m busy.
I’m out of town.
But really,
I’m just hiding
waiting for a version of me
that feels lovable enough
to show up.

I tell myself:
One day, when I fix my body,
when I become beautiful,
then maybe
I’ll let someone see me again.
Maybe
I’ll finally see me too.
Ugly.
Words not meant for me to hear,
but now I carry them
like a bruise beneath my skin.
Even makeup can’t cover that.

I straighten my hair,
dress like I’m trying to matter,
smile like I’m confident.
But inside I still feel unseen.
Still feel less.

My ex warned me:
If you gain more weight, I’ll leave.
As if love had a number,
as if my worth was on a scale.
He gained weight too,
but I guess his mirror
was more forgiving than mine.

He’s gone.
But the damage stayed.

Now, when old crushes reach out,
I disappear.
I’m busy.
I’m out of town.
But really,
I’m just hiding
waiting for a version of me
that feels lovable enough
to show up.

I tell myself
One day, when I fix my body,
when I become beautiful,
then maybe
I’ll let someone see me again.
Maybe
I’ll finally see me too.

Cuando estoy triste, ahí estás,
cuando lloro y tú me escuchas,
te levantas sin dudar
y te acercas, calladita.

Tu cabecita en mi pierna,
como diciendo, aqui estoy
no te mueves de mi lado,
mi pedacito de sol.

Estuviste en mis momentos
de estrés, de dolor, de escuela,
cuando el mundo me pesaba
y la vida dolía entera.

Me sigues a donde voy,
no obedeces a los demás,
solo a mí, porque tú sabes
lo que nadie más sabrá.

Eres un regalo puro,
mi consuelo, mi alegría,
Sybil, gracias por cuidarme
sin palabras, cada día.

Textos o no, te sigo extrañando.
Te sigo pensando. Cuando más te pienso, más me duele.
Y me ase triste.
Me hace llorar.

Llevo días extrañarte,
pensando en ti sin avisarte.
Y justo ayer entendí,
que tú también pensaste en mí.
Me lo dijiste por mensaje,
y aunque fue solo un detalle,
leer esas palabras de ti,
me hizo desear estar ahí.