three days from the edge 

i am three bad days away
from unraveling—
from the soft snap of the thread i’ve held too tightly.
the kind of thread that looks like strength
but cuts like wire.

i am three storms from forgetting
how sunlight ever felt on my skin.
three silences from believing
that anyone hears me scream beneath my smile.

i walk a thin bridge made of brittle hope,
each step echoing louder than the last—
and no one notices the cracks
beneath my feet.

i count time not in hours,
but in how many more
small collapses i can endure
before the architecture of my sanity gives way.
what does it take, really—
to fall apart?
not a grand disaster,
but a quiet accumulation:
an unanswered message,
a tired look,
a dream buried under routine,
a cry swallowed in a crowded room.

i am three sighs,
three shadows,
three sleepless nights
from becoming unrecognizable to myself.
and maybe that’s the cruelest part—
not that i could break,
but that i could vanish so slowly
no one would notice until i was already gone.

it’s the way i’ve learned to smile
with the weight of a thousand unspoken things—
the silence that echoes louder than my words ever could.
i carry the heaviness of all the things i wish i could say,
but never did because silence is safer than explanation.
the quiet loss that creeps in without warning,
the way it settles in your chest before you even realize it’s there.

but if i do fall,
let it echo.
let it shake the walls of those
who never asked why i went quiet.
let it be a sermon
for the ones who think silence means strength.

because no one is ever lost
in a single moment—
they’re scattered,
day by day,
whisper by whisper,
until even the mirror forgets their face.

and i wonder if anyone would see it—
the subtle unraveling.
if i fade away piece by piece,
will someone look at the empty spaces
and realize they were never filled?
will anyone ask the questions
that have been stuck in my throat for so long?

so if you hear me,
hear me now—
i am three bad days away.
and sometimes,
that’s all it takes
to rewrite a life
or erase one.

maybe it’s the way we all live in between—
between the moments that matter and the ones that pass,
between the noise we make and the silence we wear like armor.
maybe it’s all just a matter of waiting—
waiting for the right moment to shatter,
waiting for the last thread to snap,
waiting for someone to notice
before it’s too late.

but i wonder—
if i told you how close i am,
would you hear me then?
or would it be just another echo
lost in the noise of your own thoughts,
like all the things i never said?