Talking Feels Like Screaming Into the Void.
Sometimes, talking feels like screaming into a wall that doesn’t answer back. People hear words but don’t hear me. They see the surface, the cracked smile, the tired eyes but they never reach the storm inside. When I try to explain, they nod like they understand, but it’s just a mask. They don’t want to feel it, to carry it, or even slow down for it. They want quick fixes, polite endings, moving on. But my pain isn’t neat. It’s messy and loud and all consuming. I’m screaming inside but no one’s listening because they never really wanted to. Maybe I’m too much for them or maybe they’re just afraid to face the truth behind my silence. So I write instead because paper doesn’t judge and words don’t turn away. Writing is my confession, my refuge, the only place I don’t feel invisible in my own suffering.
