It hurts.

I won’t lie — it rips me open.

I give my time like light,

yet when I need warmth,

I find only cold.

I hold their feelings like fragile glass,

but mine shatter unheard, unseen.

I want to cry, but I am numb.

Tears won’t come.

I don’t remember the last time I truly laughed,

or the last time I truly cried.

In their need I am always there.

In mine I am alone.

That silence is a blade.

It hurts. It really, really hurts.

At school I was the outcast,

the boy who wrote poems

while others played games.

They mocked me, broke me,

and left me doubting my own worth.

Why am I so different?

Why was I always the target?

Why do I still carry no confidence in myself?

When I introduce a friend to another,

they become friends with each other —

and I vanish.

Forgotten,

as if I was only ever the bridge,

never the traveler.

That cycle never ends.

I have made only two real friends in my life.

One I dated —

she gave me her heart,

but I could not return it.

I lost her.

The other remains,

but seven thousand kilometers away,

a voice across oceans,

a presence I cannot touch.

I watch others with their brothers,

their sisters, their cousins —

crowds of laughter,

a net of belonging.

But I had none.

No sibling to confide in,

no cousin to share secrets with.

Only the hollow of comparison,

the reminder that love of parents or elders

is not the same as growing with equals.

So I turned to engines.

Cars and bikes did not judge me.

They did not leave me.

They roared when I touched them,

and in their sound I felt alive.

I told myself I needed no bonds,

no friends,

no one — machines were enough.

I am afraid of bonds now—

friendship, love, anything that ties.

Because if they leave,

the wound will cut deeper

than loneliness ever did.

What's it like to not be loved by anyone?

It’s waking to silence,

sleeping beside emptiness,

carrying victories no one shares.

It’s a weight heavier than failure itself,

a wound that never closes.

Movies depress me.

YJHD, ZNMD, 3I, DCH, NY—

they all celebrate bonds I never touched.

On screen, friendship is oxygen.

For me, it is a desert.

God knows I would give anything

just to feel that once,

to live what they lived in reel

for even a single moment in real.

The worst thing is not

needing something and having no one to help.

The worst thing is the opposite —

achieving something

and having no one to celebrate with.

That’s the cruelest silence.

Coming home every night,

eating alone,

with victories echoing in an empty room.

And so when I say I want power,

when I say I want money,

do not mistake me.

What I mean is this:

I will be so fucking powerful,

so fucking rich,

so fucking important—

that everyone will need me.

And if everyone needs me,

no one leaves.

No one forgets.

No one disappears.