I was on today.
Ten for ten smile. Impeccable comebacks. Three people told me that I "made their day." One teacher asked me if I ever run out of energy.
I said, "Never."
She laughed.
And I laughed too.
I do laugh a lot.
It's simple when you lie for a living.
I can feel myself slipping. Not all at once—just bits and pieces.
First it was sleep. Then food. Then caring. Now it's. everything.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm just tired.
And sometimes, I wonder if I'm done.
I've been writing things down. Not in a diary. Not really.
Just scraps. Little scraps that don't read out loud.
I write them on notes on my phone, on the back of receipts, on the inside of my sleeve with a pen.
Like:
"I'm not sad. I'm empty. It's different."
"If I disappeared, would it be like silence or relief?"
"I don't need attention. I need someone to stay."
"No one is listening, but I'll scream anyway."
And then I erase them before anyone can see.
Sometimes I pretend it's a letter.
A goodbye letter.
I checked my messages again. His name was still there. The boy who saw me.
Nothing new.
I should erase it. It's embarrassing. It was just a moment. A bad day.
But… he looked at me differently. Not like I was insane. Not like I was irritating. Just… like he could see through it.
And that's the worst thing.
He saw me.
And still said nothing.
Maybe I really am too much.
Or maybe I'm just invisible, even when I shout.
If I ever do leave, I won't make a scene. I'll just go off quietly. The way quiet people do. Maybe then someone will finally say something.