Muted

Muted

I tried to write, but the page stared back — blank, like my week. I searched for feeling, but they had folded in on themselves, soft and quiet, like clothes left in the dryer too long.

I laugh. I smile. I even say I’m fine. But the mirror speaks in static: nothing sharp, just a blur of "not enough."

I used to cry loud. Now it’s quiet. No pressure in my chest, no flooding in my eyes — just the hum of something missing. Every emotion turned low, like someone dimmed the lights and forgot to turn them back up.