Fragments of the Quiet Mind

It’s not the knife that breaks you. It’s the hand you thought would never hold one. I’ve had people talk behind my back. I’ve been insulted, excluded, underestimated. I’ve had strangers throw shade, coworkers act petty, random people online say stupid things. It stings for a second, but I forget about it by the next day. Because honestly, I expect that from people who don’t know me. Who have no investment in who I am. It doesn’t really get in. But what stays—the thing I carry—isn’t from enemies. It’s from people I trusted.  And it always catches me off guard. Every single time. Because you never expect it from them . The ones you let in. The ones who knew your soft spots. The ones who said, “I’m here, always.” The people who didn’t just know your story—they were in it. And then, somehow, they become the ones who hurt you in ways no stranger ever could. It’s never loud. It’s not some explosive betrayal with dramatic exits and slammed doors. No, it’s quieter than that. It’s the u...

“Some songs ask to be felt, not performed. He chose the wrong answer.” I wasn’t even planning to watch. I was just flipping channels, letting boredom pick for me, when The Clash came on — that singing competition where emotions get belted louder than the lyrics. I stayed. Not because I follow the show (I don’t), but because I heard someone say he was going to sing Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls. That song doesn’t just play — it haunts . It’s stitched into the background of moments I don’t talk about often. Quiet heartbreaks. Long drives. Things left unsaid. The contestant, apparently, was a crowd favorite. Maybe it was his backstory, or his journey, or the way the camera loved him. I had no idea who he was. I didn’t carry his narrative. All I had was the song. And then he sang it. And I wished he hadn’t. He didn’t cover Iris . He performed over it — louder, shinier, emptier. What was once a song that bled quietly now sounded like it was trying to prove something. He turned a confess...