If I leave quietly,
don’t search for me in the noise.
I was never loud enough to be missed.
Not really.
Not in the way I wished to be.
I was the echo in the hallway,
the last page of a forgotten book,
the smile that never reached my eyes.
I learned to wear silence like armor,
until it felt like home.
They say pain is temporary—
but mine had roots.
It bloomed in my chest like thorns,
and every breath was a garden of ache.
I don’t want revenge.
I don’t want pity.
I just want rest.
Real, deep, bone-tired rest.
So if you find this,
know that I tried.
God, I tried to stay.
But I was drowning in a place no one could see,
screaming in a language no one understood.
Please don’t cry for me.
Cry for the world that never heard me.
And when you see the moon,
remember—
it was the only thing
that made me feel less alone.