There were mornings I didn’t move–
just laid there,
staring at the ceiling like it owed me answers.
The weight wasn’t loud,
it whispered.
Told me nothing mattered,
and somehow I listened.

I stopped answering messages.
Stopped singing in the shower.
I stopped feeling
except for that ache
that lived in my chest
like a tenant who never paid rent
but wouldn’t leave.

I learned to fake normal.
Smiles like paper cutouts,
laughs that never reached my eyes.
Friends asked if I was okay
I said I was tired.
No one questioned that.

Years passed like smoke.
Somewhere in the blur,
I lost who I was.
Or maybe I buried him
under the guilt, the silence,
the endless nights staring at a phone
that never rang.

But today
I found an old photo of myself.
And for the first time,
I didn’t flinch.
I looked at that kid,
and I didn’t feel shame.
Just sadness…
and a little bit of love.

Maybe that’s the start.