in those quiet moments

here i am — just trying,
calling softly to the voices out there
who understand this kind of quiet pain.

the kind born from endless expectation,
from being the one who must hold it all together —
the steady voice when others break,
the bridge when love grows distant

the ache of the eldest daughter —
when you speak of hurt,
they silence you with patience,
ask you to let go,
to understand.

as if your pain were a mark of ingratitude,
as if your tiredness was just in your head,

as if a lifetime of holding the world together
was never enough to make you tired.

how much more pain?
how much more patience?
how many more things must i let go of
before i lose myself completely?

the ache of the eldest —
we are expected to be the calm,
to swallow the fire and call it love.
yet nobody believes even we can break.

today, i did.
and maybe i will again.
i’ve learned that breaking
doesn’t make a sound–
when no one believes your pain.

as if every feeling i named was wrong,
as if pain could only belong to someone else.
so i learned to swallow my voice,
to call silence understanding,
to call exhaustion love.

this is what love has taught me:
that it is endless,
that it is the quiet endurance of hard days,
that it asks, and asks again,
until you no longer know where love ends
even when there’s nothing left to give.