The Day I Couldn't Cry

Tears never came. Not when the door slammed, not when the silence settled like dust on my skin. I sat at the edge of everything— my breath a weight, my thoughts too loud to carry. Pain was not a sharp scream, but a quiet ache that refused to leave. The world moved outside my window, cars passing, birds flying, people laughing. And I sat motionless, lost in a place only I could feel. The mirror held my face, but I didn’t recognize it. I looked fine. I looked strong. I looked like someone who should be okay. But inside— everything was cracked, shifting, silent. I wanted to cry, to scream, to shatter. But nothing came. Not even a single tear. And maybe that’s the scariest part— when you feel so much you feel nothing at all.