The silence isn't empty, it's just filled with all the things i can't say, all the ways i’ve shrunk myself down to fit in someone else’s idea of me, it’s a crowded room in here, full of ghosts wearing my face and saying the words i wish i had. i think @Morgan said something about that, about the crowded room. all those unspoken apologies, the held-back opinions, the 'yes' when every cell in my body is screaming 'no'... each one a little paper cut to the soul, adding up to this dull ache, and how many sorry's before there's nothing left of me?