For the Ones Who Know Too Much

I write like I’ve seen it all—and stayed silent anyway.

I write for the struggling.
Not the kind that shows up in selfies or self-pity,
but the kind that curls in the chest and doesn’t even try to scream anymore.

I hate the cliché,
“the ones who smile the biggest have felt the most pain.”
It’s tired.
It’s true.
But it’s tired because it was never supposed to be romantic—it was supposed to be a warning.

I write betwe…