#unspokenwords - Hello Poetry

She came to me with wet cheeks, Told me about her fever— How it came at midnight, How it shook her like a leaf, How no one understood. I nodded. I understood. She spoke of thermometers and tablets, Of worries that kept her awake, Of how hard it is to be alone when you're sick. Her hands moved as she spoke, Tracing circles in the air, Drawing the shape of her suffering So I could see it clearly. I saw it. What she didn't see Was the cancer sleeping in my bones, The quiet war inside my chest, The way I measure my life In small things now— Morning light, birdsong, One more day. --- She said, "You're so strong. You always listen. You never complain about your own problems." And I smiled, Because what else can you do When the weight you carry Is too heavy for words? --- Here is what I have learned: Small pain cries. Big pain sits. Medium pain finds a friend. But the pain that will end you— That pain makes you a friend To everyone else's pain. She will remember this day As the time I held her hand While she was sick. She will tell others, "He was there for me." And I will remember That for one hour I forgot my own dying By holding someone else's living. --- Sometimes I wonder: If my cancer had a voice, What would it say? Would it scream? Would it beg? Would it shake people like she did? Or would it sit quietly too, Knowing that the world Can only carry So much sorrow? --- Tonight she is home, Probably sleeping, Her fever gone by morning. Tonight I am here, Counting heartbeats, Wondering how many are left, Holding my own hand Because no one else knows It needs holding. --- This is not a complaint. This is just how it is. Some people cry in public Because they can. Some people cry in private Because they must. And some people— Some people spend their last days Being soft places For others to fall. --- If you read this And remember someone Who listened to your pain But never shared their own— Go back. Ask again. Look closer. Because the quietest ones Are usually the ones Carrying the most. And sometimes, In their silence, They are screaming.

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Mar 12

Mar 12, 2026 at 8:46 PM UTC

shoaib005

The Listener

She came to me with wet cheeks, Told me about her fever— How it came at midnight, How it shook her like a leaf, How no one understood. I nodded. I understood. She spoke of thermometers and tablets, Of worries that kept her awake, Of how hard it is to be alone when you're sick. Her hands moved as she spoke, Tracing circles in the air, Drawing the shape of her suffering So I could see it clearly. I saw it. What she didn't see Was the cancer sleeping in my bones, The quiet war inside my chest, The way I measure my life In small things now— Morning light, birdsong, One more day. --- She said, "You're so strong. You always listen. You never complain about your own problems." And I smiled, Because what else can you do When the weight you carry Is too heavy for words? --- Here is what I have learned: Small pain cries. Big pain sits. Medium pain finds a friend. But the pain that will end you— That pain makes you a friend To everyone else's pain. She will remember this day As the time I held her hand While she was sick. She will tell others, "He was there for me." And I will remember That for one hour I forgot my own dying By holding someone else's living. --- Sometimes I wonder: If my cancer had a voice, What would it say? Would it scream? Would it beg? Would it shake people like she did? Or would it sit quietly too, Knowing that the world Can only carry So much sorrow? --- Tonight she is home, Probably sleeping, Her fever gone by morning. Tonight I am here, Counting heartbeats, Wondering how many are left, Holding my own hand Because no one else knows It needs holding. --- This is not a complaint. This is just how it is. Some people cry in public Because they can. Some people cry in private Because they must. And some people— Some people spend their last days Being soft places For others to fall. --- If you read this And remember someone Who listened to your pain But never shared their own— Go back. Ask again. Look closer. Because the quietest ones Are usually the ones Carrying the most. And sometimes, In their silence, They are screaming.