I Swear I’m Trying

Healing has its bad days.

Some nights I feel the healing,
like sunlight finally touching skin
that has only known a storm.
I laugh louder, stay out longer,
surround myself with enough noise
to silence the noise within,
I almost recognize myself again.

Then somehow, out of nowhere,
your name slips into the room
like a ghost that still knows my address.
And suddenly, I am back there,
back to the ache,
back to the silence after goodbye,
back to mourning a future
I thought was mine forever.

I never imagined healing could feel like this,
like walking miles only to realize
your heart never left the starting line.
One trigger, one memory, one song,
and everything I buried
comes clawing its way back up.

So I wear a calm face.
A practiced smile.
A laugh that sounds convincing enough
to keep people from asking questions
I do not have the strength to answer.

Because the truth is,
I carry so much pain quietly.
The kind that sits heavy in the chest
and follows you into crowded rooms,
into sleepless nights,
into mirrors while staring at your face.

I swear I am trying.
Even when it looks like I am not moving on,
I am trying to move with the weight
of losing a whole year of my life
to someone who became a memory
before I was ready to let go.

So I keep laughing.
Not because I am healed,
not because I have forgotten,
but because if I let the silence settle for too long,
if I stop pretending even for a second,
I know I will cry.