A Strange Heaviness

it’s not exactly loneliness, you know? it’s not that i don’t have people around. there’s chatter, casual jokes, familiar hallways, a city that’s already woven itself into bits of my skin. i laugh, i show up, i answer “how are you?” with the usual half-grin.

but somewhere in between all that, there’s this weight. a strange heaviness that tugs at me in quiet moments. i think it’s because i keep replaying things that aren’t here anymore. faces that made comfort look so easy, voices that didn’t need explanations. i miss how it felt when being somewhere didn’t require adjusting myself to fit.

everyone’s nice here. genuinely. they’re warm, funny, soft in their own ways. but sometimes i still feel like a guest. like i’m just politely existing in spaces that aren’t mine. like my soul is a little out of sync with the room.

i guess that’s the weird part of growing up .... you keep finding yourself in new places, with new people, and it’s all fine, it’s all part of it. but a small corner of your chest stays heavy, missing how it used to be. maybe that’s okay too. maybe that heaviness is just proof that you’ve loved people and moments hard enough to ache for them later.