Lifted - Hello Poetry

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.

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WiltedEverly

Already Soaked Through

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.