It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it? The ones that exist without occupying space. Nobody worries about them. “They’ll be okay,” they say, “it’s the loud ones we need to help.” So the quiet ones, they quickly learn no one’s coming to save them. They don’t need saving, they convince themselves, and carry on through the world never demanding their presence be witnessed. Though if you looked closer, you’d spot them masquerading among throngs of people screaming for attention, masterfully carrying the weight of the world behind plastered smiles. “But they are fine, they’ve always been fine,” you say. And one fine day, they aren’t. You’d never know, they’d never say a thing because they’ve never learned how. Or because they’ve perfected the illusion so well, they’ve even tricked themselves. It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it, whose absence rings the loudest?