A Language Unspoken

Staring at the ceiling fan, I lie in the quiet ache of my bed,
While Iris hums in the background, "I just want you to know who I am."
That one line spins in circles,
Like the blades above me.

The world? I let go of it the moment warmth I craved burned my skin,
When the one meant to protect, bruised my trust.
From shadowed walks to the quiet corridors of the world I built alone,
It's always been my own hands that held me upright.

It was selfish, I know, yet I hoped,
And oh, how wonderful it felt, to feel known.
But time, as always, broke the mirage,
And I paid for the vanity.
In softness I unlearned.

So no, I don't ask to be understood,
I don't ask to be held.
You don't have to see the all of me.
Maybe just the effort it takes,
To even let a single feeling surface,
To tame the storm within,
To translate hours spent in silence,
Into a language others speak, without breaking.

And maybe time will tell, if it's yet another madness.