Endless Days

All I do is sleep, cook, clean, the rhythm of each day blurring into the next. Morning breaks and I’m on my feet, scrambling eggs, packing lunches, wiping counters and tears alike. I never did have those things they say make a girl whole. I never went to the gym, never had a boyfriend, never walked the halls with a smile, arms linked with friends. School is just a place in stories. Friends are faces I can barely remember. It’s me and these walls, these dishes, this laundry, the soft cries of my siblings in the night. I never dressed up for prom, never knew the thrill of whispered secrets, hidden notes passed in class, the simple joy of not being needed. It’s strange how normal that seems now— a life that doesn’t ask for anything back. I am the hands that tuck them in, the voice that soothes, the arms that hold. Outside, the world hums by— proms, laughter, things I’ve never known. But here, in this house, I am everything and nothing. Just a girl who learned too young to carry the weight of lives.