The Day No One Asked

The Day No One Asked

I wish someone had asked, "Are you okay?" Because I would’ve told them— about the pain I bottle, tucked beneath polite nods and hollow laughter.

I’d have said how the guilt sleeps in the back of my closet, folded beneath shirts I never wear— wrinkled, heavy, unforgiven.

I’d have spoken of the broken pieces, stuffed in the cracks no one notices. How sadness clings to me like a ghost— not loud, just ever-present.

But no one asked. So everything stayed hidden, where only those who look past the mask, the silence, the “I’m fine” might find what I never said.