Some nights the world feels too big for my chest,
news hitting harder than any drum.
Grandma's name tastes like hospital air,
words like "transplant" and "years left" hang over me like ceilings that might fall
Next year is a question mark scribbled over my whole life:
New schools
New halls
Goodbyes, I don't wanna say.
Mercer is fading in the rearview while I'm still trying to learn how to stay when everything else is leaving.
I sit in the dark with my headphones in, heart cracking quietly where no one can see.
And then a voice says,
"Hey, it's Chan."
A soft laugh, a familiar accent, words like a blanket pulled over shaking shoulders.
He doesnt know my name, but somehow he's talking right to me:
You don't have to be strong every second of the day, you're allowed to be tired, to cry, to fall apart a little and still be someone worth loving.
The bass thunders, Changbin shouts courage into the parts of me that feel so small.
Hyunjin paints the sadness into something almost beautiful.
Lee Know reminds me it's okay just to exist today.
Han turns the mess in my head into verses that rhyme with "I'm still here."
Felix's low voice wraps around my fear, calling me "angel" like I'm not a storm.
Seungmin sings steady, like a hand on my back saying, "Keep going."
Jeongin smiles through the sound, promising that starting over doesn't mean starting from nothing.
But it's Chan I hear the clearest when I think about Grandma, about hospitals, about time slipping through our fingers.
He doesn't say it will all be okay. He says, "I'm with you while it hurts."
He says, "Breathe with me. Right now is all you have to do."
He says, "You made it to today, and that's something I'm proud of."
So I press play again and again, let the lightstick glow in the dark of my room,
let the music build walls around the pieces of me that are trying not to break.
Grandma is still sick. Next year is still scary. The tears still come when I think about telling my teacher, about leaving friends, about losing time.
But somewhere between the chorus and the bridge, I realize:
I am still breathing. I am still listening. I am still here somehow.
And maybe, just maybe, I don't have to carry all of this alone.
Maybe I can hand a piece of it to a song,
to a boy on a stage who says, "Stay for one more day with me, we'll face it together."
So I wipe my eyes, replay the track, and whisper with Chan into the dark:
"I am scared. I am hurting. But I am not giving up."
And for tonight, that is enough.
Apr 7
Apr 7, 2026 at 10:18 PM UTC
Some nights the world feels too big for my chest,
news hitting harder than any drum.
Grandma's name tastes like hospital air,
words like "transplant" and "years left" hang over me like ceilings that might fall
Next year is a question mark scribbled over my whole life:
New schools
New halls
Goodbyes, I don't wanna say.
Mercer is fading in the rearview while I'm still trying to learn how to stay when everything else is leaving.
I sit in the dark with my headphones in, heart cracking quietly where no one can see.
And then a voice says,
"Hey, it's Chan."
A soft laugh, a familiar accent, words like a blanket pulled over shaking shoulders.
He doesnt know my name, but somehow he's talking right to me:
You don't have to be strong every second of the day, you're allowed to be tired, to cry, to fall apart a little and still be someone worth loving.
The bass thunders, Changbin shouts courage into the parts of me that feel so small.
Hyunjin paints the sadness into something almost beautiful.
Lee Know reminds me it's okay just to exist today.
Han turns the mess in my head into verses that rhyme with "I'm still here."
Felix's low voice wraps around my fear, calling me "angel" like I'm not a storm.
Seungmin sings steady, like a hand on my back saying, "Keep going."
Jeongin smiles through the sound, promising that starting over doesn't mean starting from nothing.
But it's Chan I hear the clearest when I think about Grandma, about hospitals, about time slipping through our fingers.
He doesn't say it will all be okay. He says, "I'm with you while it hurts."
He says, "Breathe with me. Right now is all you have to do."
He says, "You made it to today, and that's something I'm proud of."
So I press play again and again, let the lightstick glow in the dark of my room,
let the music build walls around the pieces of me that are trying not to break.
Grandma is still sick. Next year is still scary. The tears still come when I think about telling my teacher, about leaving friends, about losing time.
But somewhere between the chorus and the bridge, I realize:
I am still breathing. I am still listening. I am still here somehow.
And maybe, just maybe, I don't have to carry all of this alone.
Maybe I can hand a piece of it to a song,
to a boy on a stage who says, "Stay for one more day with me, we'll face it together."
So I wipe my eyes, replay the track, and whisper with Chan into the dark:
"I am scared. I am hurting. But I am not giving up."
And for tonight, that is enough.
Okay, this is a lot longer than my other poems. I just had more to write for this night, I guess
