Silence isn’t a sound. It’s a feeling. Fire and ice tearing through my veins, burning, freezing, never settling. It’s the weight of being misunderstood, a language I never learned to translate. Pain stays quiet so no one else has to hear it. Silence steals the light from my eyes. It sits in my chest, heavy as regret, sharp as a blade. Forms a lump in my throat, tight as a fist that refuses to unclench. Claws at my ribs, pressing, suffocating. Silence HATES dinner. It fills the room, thick and bitter, settling between bites, between glances, between words left unsaid. Plates scrape. Glasses clink. No one says a damn thing. Silence is the loudest scream inside my body. It echoes in my bones, rattles inside my skull, a storm with no exit. Someone, please let her out.