Myself, a human being

There’s a heavy kind of quiet around someone people call ' boring '. They aren’t loud enough to fill a room. Not wild enough to become a story later. Just… steady. Predictable. Practical. Easy to forget. They don’t drink. They don’t chase chaos. They’d rather stay in than join the loud nights. For some, that makes them a “ teetotaller ", for others, just "too plain". People mean no harm when they say, "You never do anything fun”, but every small remark sinks like a pebble in their chest. Over time they start to wonder if stillness is a flaw, if simply being themselves is somehow not enough. Inside, it isn’t calm at all. Their thoughts loop: "Why can’t I be more exciting?" "Why am I always the extra?" "Would anyone notice if I disappeared?" It’s the cold replies from someone they trust, the message left on “seen,” the 'dear friend' who suddenly treats them like a spare space between plans. Tiny gestures others forget in a...