The Questions That Echo in Silence

Why does love feel like a locked door,

One that opens wide for others, but never for me?

I watch from the outside, waiting, wondering—

What did I do to be the exception?

You speak to them with warmth, arms open,

A light in your eyes that I will never know.

I reach for it, just once—

But my hands come back empty, my heart, even more so.

Is it me?

Did I break something before I even understood its shape?

Am I too much?

Too little?

Too different to be loved the way they are?

I've spent years trying to quiet the questions,

Burying them beneath layers of “I’m fine,”

But they claw their way back, relentless,

Each wound reopened, never given the chance to scar.

Tell me, what is it like?

To be held without hesitation,

To be wanted without condition,

To exist without wondering why?

I remind myself, over and over—

My worth is not in your hands.

I am more than the love you withheld.

More than the empty spaces you left behind.

Still, the little girl in me aches.

She curls up in the dark corners of my heart,

Still waiting, still hoping, still asking—

Why?

I whisper to her now,

The way you never did—

It’s okay to cry.

It’s okay to ask.

It’s okay to feel this hurt.

And when the answer never comes,

I will be the one who stays.