The Weight of Silence

Point A:
Growing up, I carried questions like hidden stones in my pockets. They weighed me down in ways no one else could see. When people said “you should be grateful,” I wondered why gratitude was demanded of me when choice had never been mine. I couldn’t name the ache for years, but I knew it lived in my bones. It wasn’t until I found my voice, until I began to say the things I wasn’t supposed to say, that the weight began to lift. Silence was never protection. It was captivity.

Point B:
I spent decades replaying the decisions made for me, told over and over that it was “for the best.” But that phrase never softened the blow. Instead, it echoed in the silence left behind — the silence of your absence. I was told to move on, to forget. But how do you forget a piece of yourself? Love doesn’t expire with time, and no era justifies erasing a bond so primal.

Image Descriptions (for accessibility):

1. Image 1: A black-and-white photo collage of overlapping hands covering a person’s mouth, symbolizing silencing and censorship.

2. Image 2: A muted photo of a foggy road disappearing into the horizon, representing uncertainty and heavy silence.