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A heartfelt poem on how a smile can hide silent battles and how love listens beyond words to find the truth behind the mask
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They said you looked better today. Your laugh landed in the air like a coin in a fountain, everyone made their silent wish and walked away. They did not see how you rehearsed it in the mirror, tilting the corners of your mouth just enough to pass inspection, but not enough to crack.
They did not feel how your bones grew heavy at midnight, how your thoughts swarmed in quiet corners, how the bed felt like both a rescue raft and a sinking ship. Loving someone through this is like holding sunlight in your hands, you can feel its warmth but never stop fearing it might slip through your fingers.
Some days, you speak through the language of “I’m fine,” the dialect of “Don’t worry,” but the pauses between words hold whole novels of ache. To love here is to learn the art of listening to what is not said, to notice the moment their smile ends too quickly, to read the eyes like scripture and understand the gospel of exhaustion.
It is knowing you cannot fix the storm, but you can sit with them in the dark until lightning finds a way to name itself as light. And one day, they might look at you, not with the mask, but with the face they keep in the quiet, and you will know you have been standing in the truth the whole time.
Because loving through depression’s mask isn’t about tearing it away, it’s about loving the soul that wears it. This content is available to members only. Please log in or register below to view it.
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