I’m fine.
I’m okay.
I’m okay.
It’s fine.
It’s all fine.
Everything is okay.

This is fine.
This is fine.
This is okay.
This is okay.

I think.

I think I’m fine.
I think I’m okay.
No—
No no, I am okay.
I’m okay.
Honestly.
Don’t worry.
Don’t even think about it.
Don’t stress.
You’ve got enough on your plate,
and me?
I’m a buffet of silence and shrink-wrap smiles.
I’m okay.
I promise.

No, I haven’t been crying.
I’m just tired.
Just tired.
Just tired.
Just tired.
(Just tired.)

Life’s been hectic.
Messy.
Spilled ink on pages I never meant to write.
But I’m here.
I’m here for you.
Because I’m fine.
So don’t stress.
Don’t ask.
Don’t look too closely.

I know I can talk to you—
but I won’t.
Because I don’t need to.
Because I shouldn’t.
Because you have things to deal with.
Because I don’t want to wake the guilt in your voice
when you say “I’m here”
but your eyes say “not now.”

I’m fine.
I’ll handle it.
Like always.
Like clockwork.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
I’ll take it one day at a time,
bite down on the screaming,
swallow the silence.

Because I’m fine.
I always get through it.

Don’t I?

I always get through it.

Don’t I?

Don’t I?