You said you were tired.
I said,
“Me too.”
You said the day felt heavy.
I laughed,
said that’s just how life is.
We compared headaches,
sleepless nights,
the way getting out of bed
sometimes felt like lifting concrete.
I thought we were the same.
I thought we were surviving
the same storm.
I didn’t know yours
was already flooding the house.
The thing about living in the dark
for so long
is your eyes adjust.
You stop noticing
how little light there is.
You stop asking questions.
You stop looking for exits.
So when you told me
you were drowning,
I thought you meant
what I meant.
Barely keeping your head above water.
Miserable,
but alive.
I didn’t know
you couldn’t touch the bottom anymore.
I didn’t know
every joke was a life jacket
coming apart in your hands.
You smiled.
I smiled.
You said,
“I’m okay.”
And I believed you
because I was saying it too.
Now I replay every conversation.
Every “I’m tired.”
Every “I’m fine.”
Every moment I could’ve stopped
and listened better.
I keep wondering
if sadness can recognise itself.
If two storms
can stand side by side
and still not see each other.
Because I knew darkness.
I knew empty rooms,
silent drives home,
nights that stretched forever.
I knew the weight.
And somehow
I still didn’t recognise
how much heavier yours had become.
Now when it rains
I think about how we both stood
under the same clouds.
How I thought
we were sharing an umbrella.
How I never realised
you were already soaked through.
23h ago
Jun 4, 2026 at 7:59 AM UTC
You said you were tired.
I said,
“Me too.”
You said the day felt heavy.
I laughed,
said that’s just how life is.
We compared headaches,
sleepless nights,
the way getting out of bed
sometimes felt like lifting concrete.
I thought we were the same.
I thought we were surviving
the same storm.
I didn’t know yours
was already flooding the house.
The thing about living in the dark
for so long
is your eyes adjust.
You stop noticing
how little light there is.
You stop asking questions.
You stop looking for exits.
So when you told me
you were drowning,
I thought you meant
what I meant.
Barely keeping your head above water.
Miserable,
but alive.
I didn’t know
you couldn’t touch the bottom anymore.
I didn’t know
every joke was a life jacket
coming apart in your hands.
You smiled.
I smiled.
You said,
“I’m okay.”
And I believed you
because I was saying it too.
Now I replay every conversation.
Every “I’m tired.”
Every “I’m fine.”
Every moment I could’ve stopped
and listened better.
I keep wondering
if sadness can recognise itself.
If two storms
can stand side by side
and still not see each other.
Because I knew darkness.
I knew empty rooms,
silent drives home,
nights that stretched forever.
I knew the weight.
And somehow
I still didn’t recognise
how much heavier yours had become.
Now when it rains
I think about how we both stood
under the same clouds.
How I thought
we were sharing an umbrella.
How I never realised
you were already soaked through.
21:57pm / Rest in Peace Linc. I hope you’re happier wherever you are.
