Some days everything arrives at once —
the noise, the movement, the unsaid things people carry
in their shoulders, in their eyes,
in the way they breathe near you.
I feel it all.
Every small vibration meant for no one in particular
still lands somewhere in my body.
It’s not that I’m fragile.
I’m just awake in places
people have trained themselves to sleep through.
And when the world gets too loud,
I don’t collapse.
I retract.
I draw the curtains inside myself
so I can hear my own thoughts again.
There’s nothing dramatic about that.
It’s simply the only way I stay whole.