it’s just a thought.One small idea.Barely formed. Something I swallowbecause it’s easierthan explaining again. It sits behind the teeth.Under the tongue.Polite.Contained. I tell myself:“It’s almost time.”That the silence will stop.That waitingdoesn’t cost anything. The world lovesthis version of me.The quiet one.The reasonable one.The one who understandsthe process. So I wait. And while I waitthe voice doesn’t disappear –it presses. It becomes a weight in the chest.Tightness.A currentlooking for a way through. Because a voicecannot be pausedwithout consequence. What happens insteadis that it flows inward.Every unspoken wordadds pressure.Every delayed answerraises the waterline. Still,they don’t hear it. They say I’m calm.They say I’m coping.They saynothing looks wrong. They mistake restraintfor consent. But…