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.