Page 84 of All the Things We Buried

People think sadness is always loud. They expect tears, screaming, locked doors, and written diaries. But depression is subtle. It’s brushing your teeth and going to work, and laughing at jokes you don’t get to feel. It’s answering “I’m fine” so many times that even you start to believe it’s the truth.

It’s waking up and feeling like you’re carrying something no one else can see. Something so heavy it warps your spine, your thoughts, your will to stay.

I’ve been screaming without making a sound. And no one heard me. Or maybe they just didn’t want to listen.

The house knew. It breathed with me. It watched me. Itreflectedme.

It gave me warnings, doors that creaked open to empty rooms, photographs that changed ever so slightly, mirrors that blinked. It whispered, “You’re not okay.” But I hushed it. Like I did everything else. Because no one wants to hear the truth when the truth makes them uncomfortable.

But death,Death, my love.

She wrapped her arms around me without question. She didn’t ask me to explain myself. She didn’t ask me to try harder, smile more, be grateful. She just said, “Rest.”

And for once, I felt peace.

I know this will hurt you. And I’m sorry for that. But I hope one day, you’ll understand: this wasn’t about giving up. It was about letting go of the weight I was never built to carry alone.

I loved you. All of you. But loving you didn’t save me. Because you never saw me drowning.

If you take anything from this letter, let it be this:

Check on the quiet ones.

The smiling ones.

The strong ones.

They’re the best at hiding the storm.

Yours,

Lenore

TWENTY FIVE (SPLIT)

DORIAN

“Soul Tied”- Ashley Singh

Iran faster than I ever had before, feet pounding the stairs, throat burning with her name.

But I was too late. Too damn late.

She was already gone.

The rope still swung gently from the chandelier. So did she.

I stared, frozen. The signs had been there. She had been slipping. But I was too selfish. Too wrapped in my own world to stop her from falling out of hers.

I reached up, grabbed the rope, and began pulling her down. I didn’t even try to cut it. My hands moved on their own, shaking, slow, desperate. When I finally got her low enough, I wrapped my arms around her and collapsed to the floor with her in my lap.

I held her hand. I pressed it to my lips. I tried to fix her like she was something that could still be fixed.

“Hey,” I whispered, tapping her cheeks. “Wake up. Come on, trouble... wake up.”

She didn’t move.

At the door, her ghost stood watching me. Her eyes were empty.