It holds up—
like the lip of a cracked cup,
so fragile
your mouth might shatter it.
A bone-close kind of grief,
tucked deep
where your mouth meets memory.

You know this feeling—
a forgotten bruise,
resurfacing in the worst way.
It hides—careful,
just beneath the skin,
tightening each time you try
to smooth it away.

The mirror doesn’t argue—
you see the stretch of your tired face,
your tight smile, more armor than expression,
held just wide enough
to stop the ache from spilling over—
but it leaks—sharp as sunlight
through broken shutters—
It has a way of moving through us,
tearing loose the things
we didn’t know held us together,
leaving us hollow,
and burdened, all at once.

They’re gone now—
shadows slipping from the walls
following everywhere you go—
so you meet the world,
and all you can offer
is a tight smile.