There’s a silence I’ve held
longer than breath
the kind you wear
so others don’t notice
the shaking underneath.
I’ve made a life
out of quiet reassurances,
threading calm
through chaos
with fingers already bleeding.
That was the deal,
wasn’t it?
Be the anchor.
Bear the storm.
Promise the ones you love
that it’s all going to be okay.
Even when it isn’t.
But the wind’s changed lately.
The words come slower.
The mask, heavier.
And these hands
they tremble more than they used to.
I don’t say it out loud,
not yet.
But I feel the edge nearing.
And I don’t know
how much longer
I can hold the line
without coming apart.
Still
there’s a roof above them.
There’s laughter I can’t lose.
So I grip what I can,
quietly,
while no one’s watching.
Not because I’m unbreakable.
But because I’m theirs.
