I wake up in the morning, and it doesn’t feel the same as before. I know I’ve changed—maybe too much, maybe just enough. I cut off the people I once loved, not because I wanted to, but because I had to. They were the same ones who hurt me the most, the ones who made me question my worth. Now, I walk past them like they are nothing, and maybe they always were. No anger, no regret, no sadness—just emptiness. I tell myself I’ve healed. I tell myself I love who I am now. And I do. But healing is not the same as never hurting again. Some nights, when the world is quiet, I feel the weight of something missing. I have myself, but sometimes, that doesn’t feel like enough. I watch the world move without me. No one stops to see me, to ask if I’m okay. No one looks close enough to notice the way my hands shake when I hold in everything I don’t say. No one asks what I need. And maybe that’s my fault for not saying it out loud, for being so used to being strong that no one realizes I still feel weak sometimes. I say "it’s okay." I always say that. It’s the lie I tell so well that even I almost believe it. Almost. Then morning comes again. I step outside and look up at the sky. The stars are fading, but for a moment, I see them—paired together, side by side, as if they were never meant to be alone. And then there's me. Alone. But still standing. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe, one day, it won’t just be okay. Maybe, one day, I will wake up and the weight in my chest will finally be gone. Maybe, one day, I won’t need someone to see me, because I will have already seen myself. But for now, I keep waking up. I keep moving forward. And I keep whispering, even when no one hears— "It’s okay." -lai