I didn’t move on. I just stopped complaining.

Everyone thinks I’m over it.

They think because I stopped talking, I stopped feeling.

But silence is not healing — sometimes it’s surrender.

I didn’t move on.

I just got tired.

Tired of explaining the same pain to people who didn’t understand it.

Tired of pretending their absence didn’t sting.

Tired of convincing myself the memories didn’t matter.

Tired of holding onto someone who wasn’t holding onto me.

So I stopped complaining.

Stopped asking why.

Stopped waiting for apologies I know will never come.

Stopped hoping they’d suddenly remember how to love me right.

But every night, when it’s quiet, my heart still whispers their name.

My mind still replays old moments like unsent drafts.

There are still songs I skip because they sound like them.

There are still places I avoid because they smell like them.

Moving on is loud — it has effort, intention, decisions.

But me?

I didn’t move.

I just shut up.

People think strength is not making noise.

But sometimes silence is just heartbreak wearing a brave face.