A raw, intimate meditation on losing joy and searching for the light that once made living feel whole.
Where did it go?
The light, the laughter,
the way my chest used to swell with something soft,
something safe.
Once, I cried from joy.
Now, I scream in silence,
and no one hears me breaking.
When did it change?
When did my tears,
those sweet, glistening proof of feeling
become a cry for help
drowned in a smile I can’t stop forcing?
I don’t remember the last time I felt whole.
It wasn’t one big moment,
it was thousands of small ones.
Little pieces of me torn away
by cold stares, unanswered calls,
the way people say “I love you”
but leave anyway.
Joy used to live here.
It danced in my laughter,
it curled up next to me at night.
Now there’s just this ache,
deep, constant,
like a wound that forgot how to heal.
I am tired.
Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix,
but the kind that settles in your bones,
makes your soul feel heavy,
like you’re dragging yourself through days
that don’t want you in them.
I cry,
not from the fullness of love,
but from the hollow it left behind.
A silent cry for help
wrapped in small smiles,
disguised in “I’m okay.”
Where did it go?
That feeling of being enough.
Of being seen.
Of waking up and wanting to.
I miss the version of me
who didn’t have to pretend.
Who didn’t whisper “help me”
into the void, hoping it would whisper back.
Tell me —
Is joy something you can lose forever?
Or is it just hiding,
waiting for me to remember
how to find it again?
