Alone

People often ask me if I get lonely or feel alone.

My answer is always the same.

 

I smile,

Say no with a laugh,

Brush it off,

And life moves on all the same.

 

I’ve said “no” so many times

that it’s no longer just a habit—

It’s the only answer I know.

 

Because how do you explain

the kind of loneliness

That hits like a train in a room full of people?

 

The kind that grows when you realise—

when you realise

You just exist

in other people’s lives,

like a shadow passing through

their moments,

their stories.

 

I have friends.

I can sit with them for hours

and still feel alone,

still invisible,

still quietly separate.

 

Because I’m not really “with them.”

I exist on the sidelines,

watching.

 

I can sit centimetres away

and still be the outsider.

 

They talk,

They laugh,

They argue—

I sit and watch.

 

Because I can sit with them

And no one will remember I’m there.

 

I’m the quiet person,

the one who always listens,

the one who remembers the little details

that everyone else forgets.

 

The person everyone goes to

when they need something,

or when they’re at their lowest,

when they need someone to lean on,

someone who won’t judge.

 

I’m the person who sits next to my phone,

notifications on,

just in case someone reaches out.

 

Because I’m the one

who will help anyone,

always be there,

always respond.

 

I’m the person

Everyone only realises that it exists

when they need me.

 

How am I supposed to explain

how I’m always the one reaching out,

always the first to check in,

always the first to offer care,

And often the last to receive it?

 

I’ll message,

check in,

be there when they’re not okay.

 

But most never reply.

 

I’ll message on my darkest days,

just asking to talk,

already knowing

I only exist

when it suits others,

when it’s convenient,

when I’m needed.

 

I have family.

They can surround me

and still feel alone,

still in the shadows,

still quietly fading into the background.

 

I pretend I don’t notice

how conversations fade when I enter the room.

I watch myself fade, too.

I watch how smiles stop,

how words pause,

how moments die quietly around me.

 

I’m the family member who holds things together.

I’m there when things get rough.

I’m there on everyone’s low days.

I’m there to pick up the pieces

of a world I just watched happen.

 

I’m the family member who’s always silent.

I’m not silent because

I have nothing to say—

I’m silent because

No one will listen.

 

They tell me I’m too quiet.

They tell me to talk more,

To exist more,

To be with them more.

 

But anytime I talk,

I’m “too much.”

An annoyance,

A bug that can be ignored,

A voice that disappears into the air.

 

Anytime I take up space,

or try to be there,

People say I’m too loud.

 

They think I don’t notice.

They all do.

 

They think I’m the person

who is happy to always be away from everyone,

who is happy to always be quiet,

who is happy to always be there,

who is happy to always listen.

 

And I guess in some ways I am.

I like the quietness—

Or maybe I’ve just gotten used to it.

 

I like not being the centre of attention,

not being in the spotlight—

Or maybe I’ve just gotten used to it.

 

I’m the person who always listens

because I’m never heard.

 

I’m the person who wants to

sit and message or talk for hours

about all the little nothings

in our lives,

the little pieces that make us human,

the little details that feel like home.

 

I’m the person who wants to help,

But I want to be helped too,

I want someone to notice me

before it’s convenient,

Before I reach out first.

 

I’m the person

who always checks in

When I really need someone

to do the same.

 

I’m the person

who pretends I don’t notice,

because noticing would mean admitting—

 

Admitting that maybe

I was never really seen

In the first place.

 

Admitting that maybe

all the moments I thought mattered,

the moments I hold close to me,

were just moments I happened to exist in—

not moments anyone would remember,

Or remember I existed in.

 

And that thought,

That thought is the kind of thought

that lingers.

 

The kind that sits with you

long after a room is empty,

long after the noise is gone,

long after everyone else has left.

 

The kind that stays with you

when it’s just you

and a quiet you can’t escape,

when the world moves on without notice,

And you remain.

 

Because the truth is,

It’s not the silence that hurts the most—

It’s realising

that no one was ever really listening

to begin with.

 

So I keep smiling.

I keep saying “no.”

Keep laughing it off like it’s nothing,

like it’s not something that cuts deep,

like it’s not something

I replay over and over.

 

Because if I say “no” enough,

maybe one day

It might be true.

 

Because I’m the person

who just exists,

who watches,

who listens,

who reaches out,

who quietly waits to be seen.