What you could not say

my father's still saved as Dad in my phone. he died in 2022. don't know why i haven't deleted it. not gonna either.

my mother thinks i'm doing fine. i let her. twenty minutes a week, that's all it takes.

there's a message in my drafts i've had for eleven months. i know exactly what it says. i open it, read it, close it. never sent.

i keep writing comments with the wrong nickname so nobody'd know it's me, then deleting them. dunno what i'm scared of.

i passed the exam i was sure i'd fail. bought myself a cake, ate it at the bus stop. it was raining, i didn't care.

we share a flat and i haven't said more than ten sentences to him in a month. he's not a bad person. i'm just far away right now.

told my friend i was tired so i could cancel. i just couldn't sit there and act normal for three hours. i think she knows.

my dad started texting me good morning at random hours, always a different typo. best thing that happened to me all year, honestly.

i feel closer to a book than to most people. i don't know, maybe that's just me.

nobody knows i can't read anything longer than a page anymore. i'm 34 and i keep losing track. i just say i'm tired.

six years a nurse and i still cry in the hospital parking lot after some shifts. i shower before i go inside, like i can wash the day off or something.