Things I Miss...

Another wound of mine got scratched again.

When I was a kid, happiness was everywhere.

In a doll that was taller than me.

In those tiny kitchen sets while playing ghar-ghar.

In random drawings that made no sense.

In creating things just because I wanted to.

The kind of happiness every child deserves to have.

And sometimes, I think that's what I miss the most.

Not the doll.

Not the toys.

Not even those afternoons.

The girl who didn't overthink every feeling. The girl who wasn't carrying the weight of her own mind.

Back then, I would come home and tell my parents everything. The smallest stories. The most pointless details.

Now I don't even remember the last time I had a real conversation with my dad.

Not because they aren't there. If I call them right now, they'll answer. They'll listen. But I don't know how to tell them that something inside me is changing. That I feel everything too deeply. That small things overwhelm me. That some days I don't even recognise myself.

The strange part is that nothing seems missing from my life. If someone handed me an iPad today, or gifted me a trip to Dubai, I know I'd smile. But I don't think I'd feel happy.

I've tried everything.

New clothes.

Doing my hair differently.

Trying to become a newer version of myself.

I'd show my friends. They'd compliment me. And for a moment, I'd wait for something to happen inside.

But nothing changed. Everything felt exactly the same.

And lately, that's what scares me the most.

Not sadness.

But forgetting what happiness is supposed to feel like.