Outlines

There was a person once

who laughed louder than anyone else in the room.

The kind of person people pointed at and said,

“See? That one right there…

that’s the strong one.”

The one who remembered birthdays.

Who stayed after everyone left.

Who listened carefully when others spoke,

as if their pain mattered more than their own heartbeat.

The one who carried broken people

while quietly bleeding through invisible wounds.

They called them sunshine.

And maybe that was the cruelest part of all.

Because no one ever stops to ask the sun

if it is tired of burning.

No one notices the way stars die slowly.

No one hears a soul collapsing

when it learns how to make the sound of suffering

look beautiful.

So if I don’t survive this war,

tell them I tried.

Tell them there were nights

I clenched my fists so hard against my chest

just to keep my heart from falling apart inside me.

Tell them there were mornings

where simply waking up

felt like dragging a shattered body

through miles of broken glass.

Tell them I stayed.

God, tell them I stayed.

Even when every corner of my mind

became a battlefield.

Even when the noise inside me

grew louder than the love around me.

People think pain is loud.

They think it crashes through walls,

screams through tears,

begs to be noticed.

But the worst pain?

The worst pain learns silence.

It learns how to smile politely.

How to answer, “I’m okay,”

with shaking hands hidden in pockets.

It learns how to comfort others

while secretly wondering

what it feels like

to be saved too.

And I swear I wanted to stay.

I wanted to survive this.

I wanted to believe healing was waiting for me somewhere.

But every night became heavier than the last.

Every memory turned sharp.

Every breath felt borrowed.

There were storms inside me

that no one could see.

Entire oceans drowning quietly behind my eyes.

I became an expert at disguising devastation.

I wore joy like armor.

Wore laughter like a mask stitched into my skin.

Wore kindness like a final apology

for becoming too difficult to carry.

People loved my smile.

They never noticed

it was trembling.

They admired my strength.

They never realized

strength was simply the only thing I had left

after falling apart stopped being an option.

Because what do you do

when you are the person everyone depends on

but your own soul is collapsing inward like a dying star?

What do you do

when your mind becomes a house on fire

and somehow you still must answer texts kindly,

still show up smiling,

still make everyone else feel safe

while smoke fills your lungs?

You learn to disappear quietly.

Piece by piece.

You learn how to become smaller

without anyone noticing.

You stop speaking about your sadness

because people only understand pain

when it looks dramatic.

Not when it looks exhausted.

Not when it looks like staring at the ceiling at 3:17 AM

wondering how much longer a human being can carry themselves

before their spirit finally gives out.

There were nights I begged the universe

for just one moment of silence inside my head.

One moment.

One single moment

where my thoughts did not claw at me

like wolves in the dark.

But the mind can become cruel.

Crueler than enemies.

Crueler than loneliness.

It whispers things slowly.

It tells you you’re becoming a burden.

It tells you everyone would heal easier without you.

It tells you your sadness is contagious,

your exhaustion inconvenient,

your existence too heavy.

And eventually…

Eventually the lies begin sounding holy.

So if I fade,

tell them it wasn’t because I didn’t love this world.

It was because I felt too much of it all at once.

Tell them music still reached me.

Tell them sunsets still made me pause.

Tell them I still stared at the moon

like maybe it understood lonely things.

Tell them I still loved people

even while disappearing from myself.

Especially then.

Tell them I waited.

I waited through impossible nights.

Through birthdays that felt empty.

Through crowded rooms that somehow made loneliness louder.

Through the terrifying realization

that you can be surrounded by love

and still feel completely unreachable.

Tell them I believed.

Even when hope became fragile.

Even when my chest carried entire graveyards of disappointment.

Even when every tomorrow

felt identical to survival instead of living.

Hope is a strange thing.

People think it burns bright.

But sometimes hope is nothing more

than a person brushing their teeth at midnight

instead of giving up.

Sometimes hope is answering one more message.

Eating one more meal.

Making one more promise to yourself

that maybe tomorrow will hurt less.

And I did that.

Again and again.

I fought battles no one saw.

Wars hidden beneath ordinary conversations.

I survived days

that would have broken louder people.

And still…

Still I was tired.

Not the kind of tired sleep fixes.

The kind that settles into your bones.

The kind that makes your soul feel ancient.

The kind where carrying your own name

feels unbearable.

So if I don’t survive this war,

please do not say I was weak.

Tell them I was too gentle

for a world that sharpened everything.

Tell them I loved too deeply.

Felt too honestly.

Stayed too long in places

that slowly destroyed me.

Tell them I kept giving light away

even after my own hands went cold.

And if they ask what happened to me,

tell them this:

Some people drown in oceans.

Others drown in silence.

Mine just happened slowly enough

for everyone to mistake it for strength.

Lay me in quiet.

No grand speeches.

No pretending people understood me

after I’m gone

when they never truly listened while I was here.

Just let the stars keep spinning above me.

Let the night hold what I could not carry anymore.

Because I was never asking to be rescued dramatically.

I only wanted someone

to notice I was disappearing.

I only wanted someone

to look past the smile

and say:

“You do not have to be strong every second.”

But I became too good at hiding devastation.

Too good at making agony look graceful.

Too good at surviving publicly

while dying privately.

And maybe that is the tragedy of people like me.

We become sanctuaries for everyone else

while turning ourselves into ruins.

Still…

Even now…

Even at the edge of myself…

There is love in me.

There is unbearable love in me.

For the strangers fighting hidden wars.

For the souls sitting silently in crowded rooms.

For the people who smile with shattered hearts.

For the ones who keep showing up

despite the unbearable weight inside them.

I understand them.

I understand how exhausting it is

to carry darkness elegantly.

How painful it is

to be called “strong”

when what you really need

is permission to collapse.

So if I go where hurting ends,

do not remember me as tragedy alone.

Remember me as someone

who fought impossible storms quietly.

Someone who stayed softer

than the pain trying to harden them.

Someone who carried galaxies of grief

inside a gentle heart.

Remember the smile.

Not because it meant I was okay —

but because even in unbearable suffering,

I still tried to give the world beauty.

And maybe…

Maybe that is the most human thing of all.

To be breaking endlessly inside,

yet still love people

with every remaining piece of yourself.

So if I don’t survive this war…

Tell them I tried.

Tell them I stayed.

Tell them the nights were simply heavier

than anyone ever knew.

Tell them I was more than my sadness.

Tell them beneath the smile

was a soul screaming quietly for rest.

Tell them I fought until there was nothing left.

And when the rain finally carried my echoes away,

when the stars became the only witnesses to my silence,

when the hurting loosened its grip at last,

tell them I was tired.

Tell them I wanted peace.

Tell them I loved deeply.

Tell them I was here.