I’m fine — I really am.
I still get up, brush my hair, text back when I can.
I do the things that make it look like I’m okay. I laugh when someone jokes, even if it never quite reaches my chest.
I eat enough, sleep—maybe. Talk enough, just enough not to raise concern.
Some nights I stare at the ceiling long after the lights go out, wondering how I got so good at pretending I want to be here.
I don’t cry every day anymore, but sometimes I still do when no one’s around. That’s progress, right?
So yeah, I’m fine.

An overthinking mind and a sensitive heart the cruellest combination.
A change in someone’s tone feels like rejection; a short reply feels like distance; silence feels like the beginning of goodbye.
We don’t want too much, just reassurance… but the world calls it “being too emotional.”

They’ll never understand how heavy it feels to care this deeply — to feel every crack, every pause, every unspoken word.
Crippling empathy is both a blessing and a curse. When no one validates it, it starts to feel like you’re carrying a storm alone.
So we keep hoping someone will notice — someone will understand that beneath this sensitivity lies love: raw, fierce, and unfiltered.

Until that day comes, we learn to tiptoe around our own hearts, guarding them while still aching to be seen.