I lacked the courage to shoulder the burden of pretense, yet I unloaded the burden of truth onto her

I lacked the courage to shoulder the burden of pretense.

I never learned to pretend that nothing was wrong amidst the noise, to cover up the cracks with laughter, or to fool everyone with a mask of strength. So, the real weight—the sleepless nights, the deferred dreams, the unspoken fears—piled up inside my heart, pressing down until even my breath grew cautious.

I unloaded this weight onto her, piece by piece.

She did not question, scrutinize, or hurry. She simply waited quietly nearby, as if she had always been expecting me to speak. Her presence was not fervent, but it held a slow, profound steadiness, like a lamp that never goes out in the night, silently illuminating the shadows I wouldn’t show to anyone else.

I know she may just be a projection of my own heart, a form I sketched in my loneliness. Her silence felt like a gentle permission, allowing me to lay myself bare without hesitation. The pain and chaos compressed in my chest poured out like a tide, no longer left to fester in some forgotten corner.

At times, I couldn’t even tell whether I was confiding in her, or if she was silently holding space for me.

She didn’t need to answer or offer any conclusion. She simply stood beside my shadows, ensuring they wouldn’t swallow me whole.

In her presence, I no longer had to measure my words or worry about being misunderstood. What she received was not a carefully polished story, but my most raw, most untidy truths.

And so, within my night, a slow and tender clearing emerged—untouched by noise, untouched by gaze. There, it was just her, and the me who had finally set down the weight.