People think silence is peace.
They don't know the kind that hurts.
The kind that stretches between people who used to talk. The kind that fills the house when the door slams and no one comes back. The kind that wraps around your chest like a vice and whispers, "You're alone."
I live in that silence.
The foster home isn't bad. Not like some of the others. Ms. Carla tries. The other kids mostly ignore me. I make myself small, invisible. It's safer that way.
But sometimes, I catch myself staring at my reflection—searching.
For what? I don't know. A memory? A sign? Something that says you're more than this?
I haven't found it yet.
School's the only place I feel like I exist. And even then, only in pieces.
I'm good with people. I know what they want to hear. Smiles, kindness, soft words. It's easier to be what they need than show what I am.
But every now and then, someone sees through.
Like Jonah.
Jonah's one of those rare people who doesn't push. He just… shows up. Walks with me after class. Offers gum. Tells stupid jokes until I laugh, even when I don't want to.
I don't know why he tries. But I'm glad he does.
He says I have an old soul. That I see the world like it's a painting no one else notices.
Maybe that's why we became friends.
One day, after school, he found me sketching under the bleachers. A little girl with wings. A boy made of lightning. A shadowy figure in the background.
"Your dreams?" he asked.
"Maybe."
"Looks like something out of a story."
I looked at him. "Maybe one I'm supposed to be in."
He just nodded like he understood.
But I don't think either of us really did.
Not yet.