when the quiet breaks


i learned to love the silence
not because it felt like peace—
but because it never lied to me.

the noise left bruises,
every laugh a little jagged
every “i’m fine” cracked at the edges
and every promise wore someone else's face.

but silence? she didn’t pretend.
she just sat beside me while my hands trembled,
while my breath forgot how to stay.

people say healing is loud
but mine looked like folded laundry
and rooms i didn’t run from.





.

a book titled the comfort book
carries silver-tongued truths disguised as preachings offering some peace.
turns out reading what's already known
is like seeing the result on paper—
having exclaimed, i won't believe unless it's shown.

can i slip in, as a matter of fact,
the moon is suing me for emotional damage
and all the pressure i've brought upon it, forthwith, with immediate effect?

she left a letter this morning while leaving
to hide in her contrary's presence—
a cease and desist nailed to the door of my self.
she claimed i'd stared too long,
longingly enough she’d started to feel bare,
and seen me stark naked as i whispered my dire lies to the night air.
she felt used. perhaps i committed a crime.
so i admitted, and asked for apologies.

except i was sent a summon,
to present myself and the plead-not-guilty note.
the stars—she put as the jury,
the night sky her lawyer,
the sun as the judge—he held fury.

i presented myself, humor disguising my truth,
but when they brought the memories to the witness box,
i knew i was done for—eloquently misjudged and overlooked.

had to take an oath,
but they lied under it even.
promised nothing was wrong.
i saw right through their plotting.

i aimed for the time reversing,
pleading guilty, admitting innocence.
my shadow whispered secrets i haven't lived yet—
and they brought her to cross-examine:
no one else but my imaginary friend.

she was mad.
mad for being forgotten and left.

so i did the next best thing:
tore my skin, let her scavenge through the inside.
she felt for the way my veins pulsed,
and admitted i was right.
speaking the truth, your honor,
i smiled at the moon,
but felt guilty for not seeing it sooner.

the universe had glitched—
whenever i cried, it glitched,
sent down a star to wipe my eyes dry.
in doing so, the stars suffered,
and the moon, without her supporters, lost her glimmer.
she lost her friends, as i lost my own.
and no, she wasn’t angry—
just a bit tensed, for she'd seen what happened to my hope.

the lawsuit resulted in me being freed.
i stood up, walked over, and gave her a tight hug—
the trial of chaos, and of giving life to non-existent hope.

she handed me the book of comfort,
written in white on a black page.
it glistened.
the often misplaced truths hide in the bright.
so accept them as you may—
they could be sour, bitter, expired to taste,
but breathing in the venom is one way to make sure
you don’t repeat the same mistakes.

and so this was my tale,
held in the celestial court.
i missed everything—except that i was forlorn, not too long ago.
i still sit at nights and stare at her,
but this time, she lends her own shoulder.
the stars scribble it down:
surrealism meets emotional rundown.

ominous as though it might seem,
this fits like a verdict-stamped
"not guilty" in my very being.

I apologize too much.
I never think I do enough.
I always go beyond and above,
Still I’m too fragile to be loved.

I’m so scared of the truth,
Yet nothing else will ever do.
Happiness has been the goal,
But I fear forever feeling hollow.

You and I deserve the best of me.
But who am I—why can't I see?

I don't know how to say no.
People say, "stop," I still go.
Always there, always giving—
Yet alone when I need forgiving.

I'd climb a mountain, cross a sea.
I'd burn myself out just to meet a need.
But I've already lowered the bar—
It drags behind me like a scar.

The world is loud. The vision’s getting hazy.
Please help me now... I feel crazy.

So many faces—
Which is mine?
Each stitched with guilt,
A need to stay in line.

What if saying "no" could feel like peace?
What if I took a space just to breathe?
Would you hold me when I come undone?
Remind me I don't always have to run?

I'm worn, but still reaching.
I'm bruised, but still believing.
I don't need much, just to be seen—
Not as a mirror,
But a human being.

I had become acquainted
with unseeing eyes that still saw
too much. The cloister of a cocoon
meant to preserve all that remained

after the fire coursed through, crying.
The heaviness of stories I had clung to
like the hand of a parent who had
already slipped away and failed

to realize the child who saw beyond
the mirage, who hoped against hope
for even an artificial light to provide
warmth, to somehow be unveiled

as the source to begin with. Was I still
wandering into a borrowed tomb,
unable to discern these times, seasons
that ushered in the fragile new growth

when all I'd known was decay? Carry
that weight and leave the shell. Let
the molten fragments be found
by the next unsuspecting stranger

eagerly awaiting new rains. I had been
steeped too long in the deluge of death
only to shrink from the only true light
that could heal those deepest parts

of my being, of those stories I wished
weren't mine to hold. Still, the flicker illuminated all they had wanted to keep me from knowing all along.

I sank into the familiar couch — tense, prepared
for chastisement. I was met with warmth, a calm
reassurance that the events that had transpired

all served a greater purpose. A necessary unraveling.
Arriving at the end of myself at last. Could I salvage
a sense of normalcy? Did I want to? Things had shattered

beyond repair. What was I meant to hold onto? Discard?
Regeneration seemed an unattainable summit not meant for me.
As if reading my mind, my therapist spoke, his words of truth

stirring my spirit in a way my mind could not fathom.
When you experience that fear, go back to that place of surrender.
No more and no less. In silence, we sat in that dim sanctuary

for some time, the drone of the cars outside a sharp reminder
that I was still alive. I had people on my side who did not turn
their eyes away from my fragmented state of being. I spoke now

of the gradient colors of maples across the street. A brilliant hue.
My tone was flat, but it was still an observation made
with intact faculties.. Yes, that’s it. Keep that awareness. My therapist
nodded his encouragement. This is good. You’re able to focus, to recognize
beauty in the mundane. Keep going. Somehow, this simple statement
imbued me with the resolve to continue. My voice wavered

as I recalled how I saw my entire life flash before my eyes  
like a cruel cliché. How I was swept up into some
parallel dimension. One that was so much more real than this

world I’d been immersed in. You need to write it all down. At this point,
you may not be able to differentiate which parts truly happened and which parts
were illusions. So you’ll need to capture it all. His words rang true, and yet —

how could I bring myself to experience this once more,
to solidify what had happened to me and what I was still
moving through? Something in me knew that he was connecting it

all back to something much bigger than either of us. Something
or Someone present through it all. A silent witness who held the only
key that would set me free. The Truth that still waited patiently for me.