A quiet world

I learned early

to wear smiles

like borrowed clothes

not quite my size

but close enough

to pass.

small talk

is my second language—

memorized,

not felt.

I mimic warmth,

laughter,

the right tilt of my head

at the right time

but inside,

I’m watching the script

float away.

when I find someone

who sees me—

really sees me—

I dive in

like the ocean

has no floor.

but love,

when you live in echoes,

is loud.

and I am

too much

too soon

too often.

they pull away,

slowly,

until they’re

a stranger again.

and I

can’t

start over.

because starting over

means believing

they’ll stay.

and I’ve learned

some things

don’t.