My name is X.
I don't know when exactly I began to feel this way—like my life is stitched together from silence and hesitation, like every step I take is half a step behind everyone else.
I love people too easily. That's one of my flaws.
The moment someone smiles at me, or speaks with kindness, my heart leaps forward as if it's already theirs.
But when you give your love away so easily, you soon realize how fragile it becomes—like paper soaked in water, it tears before it can be shaped into anything lasting.
Because of that, I have never found true love.
At school, I keep to myself.
My classmates walk past me as if I am invisible.
They laugh, they share secrets, they fight and make up again.
I watch them, always on the outside, like a ghost hovering near the warmth of a fire that will never reach my skin.
It's not that I don't want to talk.
It's that my tongue freezes. My throat closes.
When the words finally come, they feel small, broken, not enough.
So, I stay quiet.
And because I stay quiet, no one approaches me.
It's a circle I can't break.
My friends—if I can even call them that—exist in a strange fog.
They're kind, yes. They greet me, they invite me sometimes.
But I can never feel the bond that ties them together.
They share laughter, but when I laugh it sounds hollow.
They share stories, but when I try, my words sink like stones in a river.
It's not their fault.
It's mine.
I'm ashamed of how I look.
Every time I see my reflection, I wonder if the world sees the same ugliness I do.
Maybe that's why I never feel connected.
How can I, when I don't even want to face myself?
At home, things are no different.
My family is poor, and I feel like a weight dragging them down.
They work so hard, and what do I do?
I study, I sit, I breathe—but none of that saves us.
None of that puts food on the table, or light in the house.
I feel guilty every day.
Guilty that I can't do anything.
Guilty that maybe if I had been born different—smarter, prettier, stronger—life wouldn't be so hard for them.
I tell myself that someday I'll change everything.
But even as I whisper it in my head, I don't believe it.
That's me.
That's the beginning of who I am.
A girl who loves too easily.
A girl who can't speak when it matters.
A girl ashamed of her own face.
A girl who feels like a burden to the family she loves.
And yet, every morning, I still go to school.
I still walk through those doors.
I still sit at my desk, quiet and small, watching the world move on without me.
Maybe, one day, something will change.
Maybe.
But for now, this is my story.