There are only so many times
a heart can quietly ask,
“Are we okay?”
before it gets too tired
to ask again.
Not because it stopped caring.
But because every unanswered hope
becomes a little heavier to carry.
I don’t need perfect words.
I don’t need promises.
I think I just need to know
that someone would notice
if I stopped reaching.
Because there comes a point
where even the softest pleas
begin to sound like echoes—
and the silence
starts convincing you
that maybe
you were the only one
who heard them.