The Smile I Borrow

They say I smile a lot. But no one asks why it never reaches my eyes. It’s not mine. It’s borrowed. Like clothes I never chose but wear anyway. It fits the world better than silence. So I wear it. Every morning. Pull it tight like armor. Paint it bright like it means something. But inside, I’m empty. Not broken just drained. Like I gave everything to everyone and kept nothing for myself. I laugh when they laugh. Not because I feel it but because I’m expected to. Happiness, for me, is theater. The audience claps. I bow. Then hide behind the curtain no one sees. Where I’m just me. And even that feels like too much. So I smile. Again. Because pretending hurts less than explaining. Because silence is safer than truth. Because if they knew how I really felt they might leave. And I don’t want to be alone. Even though I already am.