The same date returns,
and so do the tears,
pouring quietly into my soul.

I hate the days that remember me.
Days that whisper pain
like it never left.

Sometimes I wish
I was never born into this world,
where emptiness settles
inside a broken heart.

This heaviness in my chest
steals my breath,
and I ask the same questions—
why?

Why do those around me
notice me only when I falter,
yet look away
when I give them everything I am?

People disappoint me.
Family disappoints me.
Friends disappoint me.

And I disappoint myself—
for staying kind,
for caring too deeply,
when love was never returned
the same way.