Who are You?

 

 

She traced the outline of her face in the mirror,

fingers ghosting over features that didn’t feel like hers.

Not unrecognizable, just… distant.

Like she had been borrowed by the world,

piece by piece, until nothing truly belonged to her anymore.

She never asked for much

not the sky, not the stars,

not even a hand to hold.

Just a moment, just a breath,

just someone to say— "Do you want this?"

But no one did.

And maybe that was fair.

She never let them.

She walked the line so well,

made it easy to believe she was meant to be there.

Yes, it was her fault.

She never strayed, never stumbled,

always what they needed, always enough.

But the ache wasn’t in the doing.

It wasn’t in the weight she carried

or the choices she never made.

It was in the way no one ever noticed.

Because that was the whole point of facade, wasn’t it?

A perfect act, a seamless smile,

never loud enough to be heard,

never quiet enough to be found.

She should have known better.

Humans were never smart creatures.

They only see what they understand,

only ask the questions they expect answers to.

They called her strong—

but strength was just another word for silence.

And so she stayed, and so she lived,

a ghost in her own skin,

standing in rooms but never being there,

filling spaces but never belonging there,

breathing but never alive.

Loneliness isn’t always loud.

Sometimes, it’s the absence of a voice

where there should have been one.

The terrifying realization that she could scream,

and nothing would change.

Yet she continued.

One step, then another.

A life that was never hers,

but at least it was something.

"What if one day, I simply fade away?"

Not in pieces, not in pain,

but in the cruelest way—

when even the mirror forgets my face.

A whisper lingers, soft yet true,

"Who are you?"—but the silence only grew.