- Ordinary Day

You walked home alone,
noticing how sound seemed to fold into itself.
The morning light stretched across the pavement,
but none of it reached you.
The day had only just begun,
yet something inside already felt done.
You weren’t sure what you needed—
only that whatever it was
kept slipping further out of reach.

You stepped onto the bus,
watched it slowly fill
with strangers,
each wrapped in their own world—
some in love,
some in pain,
some swallowed whole by silence
in a space too crowded to be alone.

You sat behind a laughing couple,
cradling a baby who giggled at the light.
That sound used to fill you with warmth,
used to stir something soft in your chest.
But not today.

Today, you folded yourself
into the last seat,
your gaze trailing the window,
hoping the day would shift—
that someone might find you
before it’s too late.

The bus groaned forward,
its screeching engine crawled into your ears
and refused to leave.
The world passed in streaks of grey,
and you wished
you still saw it in color.

You missed the wind
that once made you feel alive.
You missed the voices
that once made sense.
You missed the way your fear
used to hide behind laughter.
You missed blending in
without feeling invisible.

But not today.
Today, you saw yourself clearly—
too clearly.
Every memory you tried to forget
came flooding back—
the tainted ones,
the words never spoken,
the silence that grew too loud.

You reached into your past,
tried to lift what you’ve carried for too long.
But the weight has changed—
grown sharp,
dug in deeper.

And still,
you sat there.
Still, you breathed.
Still, you hoped.

Maybe not loudly,
but enough.

That someone might see you.
That a laugh might mean something again.
That the light might reach you—
even on
an ordinary day.