Invisible Heavy Souls

I used to be the friend who stayed after the party

to stack everybody else’s sadness into neat piles.

I called it love.

I called it “just being me.”

~𓆩𓆪~

I learned your triggers like street names,

mapped your moods by the sound of your keys,

held your storms in my coat pockets

until my hands forgot their own warmth.

~𓆩𓆪~

You cried, I became a towel.

You raged, I became a wall.

You went quiet, I became a detective

Looking for clues in your punctuation.

~𓆩𓆪~

Somewhere along the line

I started carrying people

like extra bags at the airport—

smiling because I’m “strong,”

sweating because I’m human.

~𓆩𓆪~

The worst part

is how invisible the weight is.

No bruises, no receipts,

just a tiredness that sits behind my eyes

like a dim light left on too long.

~𓆩𓆪~

Last week I set one bag down.

Just one.

I said, “I cannot hold this for you.”

My voice shook, but it did not break.

~𓆩𓆪~

I went home lighter

and a little guilty,

like I’d stolen my own life back

and wasn’t sure I deserved the change.