The tears I cry in silence are the ones only I know about.
The fears I bury deep in my heart, hidden in the dark, are mine alone to confront.
The torment and sorrow I endure, while others see it as enjoyment, are the burdens only I can share.
My silence has never meant that my pain, tears, love, sorrow, or happiness don't exist. It simply means that my feelings are mine to understand, and yours to try to comprehend. Don't tell me you know how I feel—because, truthfully, you don't. It frustrates me when you claim to understand me, when you can't even bear to walk in my shoes, yet you act as if you're drowning in my emotional pool.
I'd rather be the one who speaks little in the silence than someone in the open, pretending that others truly understand when, in reality, they don't.