What we have for dinner?
- Reads 127
- Votes 2
- Parts 1
Complete Wed, May 21, 2025<5 mins
A quiet, aching monologue from the bones of sorrow itself.
This piece explores the silent burden of living with a grief that doesn't shout but hums softly like guilt behind closed doors or the sound of hope slipping away at night. A raw and poetic meditation on pain, isolation, and the struggle to survive while pretending to be okay.
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#561
melancholy
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These are truths I was never taught to speak. Here lie the words I swallowed, the pain I buried, and the questions they told me not to ask. For the unheard. For the unseen. For the ones who feel too much in a world that tells them to feel less. I write for you. I write for me.
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