In shadowed rooms where echoes sigh, And morning hides behind the sky, A weight unseen begins to grow— A hush that no one else will know. The sun still rises, warm and bright, But finds no welcome in this night. Its golden fingers tap the pane, Yet cannot reach through glass and pain. Thoughts drift like smoke without a flame, Each breath a whisper, not a name. The mirror holds a stranger’s stare, Eyes dulled by burdens hard to bear. A smile—a mask both worn and thin— Hides wars that rage beneath the skin. And laughter, light, though kindly meant, Falls flat where joy and time are spent. No storm to brave, no wound to bind, Just hollow rooms inside the mind. A hunger not for food or sleep, But peace that doesn’t come too cheap. Yet still, some part, a silent thread, Holds tight when all seems lost or dead. A flicker deep, though faint and slow— A quiet plea: Don’t let me go.