Не глупая

Pain, as if rubbing salt into my own wounds - the usual recipe for emotional turmoil. Empty glasses nearby, and a question echoing in my chest: why does “adult” not always mean “calm”? Another attempt to believe, again too many feelings in someone else's palms, and again silence in response. But inside, I am no longer a girl for whom everything is new, but a person who has learned to see mirages and not run blindly toward them. It's sad, sharp, but there is hope: this caution is now not about fear, but about strength.