Maybe I’ve grown older — or maybe I’ve always been the same, Never the kind who chases crowds or noisy games. I’ll always choose an empty beach, a quiet line of sand, Instead of restless parks where lights and laughter stand. Maybe I’m crazy If you look at me you'd say “Drama queen, she’s exaggerating” Just another stormy day But everything I feel is real, it cuts me to the bone, It burns, it tears, it breaks me down until I’m not my own. No, this is not a drama, not some act I play for show, It’s only me — my chaos — the fire I always know. It burns and it unravels, it scatters what I am, A quiet kind of breaking no one can understand. It lives in me and never fades away, Slowly eating through the night into the day. And maybe it looks simple — like joy is standing near, Like I should reach and take it without a trace of fear. Instead I drown in sadness and I only want to run, You cannot know how hard it is to face what has begun. You think my hours pass with ease because I keep in motion still, Because my hands are always full, because I bend to every will. You do not see the weight of giving more than breath allows, Moving while I’m suffocating, keeping silent somehow. You have no idea how heavy every motion can become, When I breathe without air Waiting for you to come. Maybe I’m too much for some, maybe never quite enough, Never what they hoped to hold, never easy, never soft. Never what they expected when they looked into my eyes, Never simple love — just storms they couldn’t recognize. Maybe you can see me calm before the thunder starts, Before the next wild storm begins to tear apart my heart. And maybe even knowing that the quiet will not stand, You’d still decide to stay And hold my trembling hand. Not to stop the chaos, not to quiet every flame, Just to stay beside the storm and call me by my name. Because sometimes all I ask when the dark won’t understand Is someone who won’t leave And simply holds my hand.
