Fine

--- I smile like I mean it, laugh just enough to keep you from asking. I say, “I'm fine,” like it's stitched to my sleeve, like a reflex I can’t unlearn. The sun still rises and so do I, but some mornings feel heavier than the night. I carry quiet like a second skin, fold it neatly behind small talk and to-do lists. No one sees the weight in invisible things— the cracked voice I smooth, the tears that dry before falling. But I keep going, because that’s what you do when no one’s looking and everything hurts and you’re still expected to smile.