It’s not sadness,
not really.
It’s the space after the storm,
where nothing grows,
and nothing dies.

It’s not the tears,
it’s the absence of them.
Eyes dry,
but not clear.
Just blank.

You remember when you used to feel things.
Songs would split you open,
sunsets made you cry,
a laugh could save you.
Now you just nod
and pretend.

They ask,
“Are you okay?”
And you say,
“Yeah.”
Because you don’t know what else to say
when nothing’s really wrong
and everything is.

It’s like watching your life
through a fogged up window.
you’re there,
but not really.

Not sad,
not happy,
just
here.

Breathing,
but not alive.
Moving,
but not living.

And the scariest part is,
you start to get used to it.
Like numbness is safer
than pain.

Like feeling nothing
is easier
than risking
everything.

You miss
missing things.
You miss
feeling full,
or even broken.
You’d take pain
if it meant
you could still feel alive.

But for now you hope that
just maybe
something warm
will reach you
before you forget
what warmth even means.

im tempted --
to dial your number,
to send that text,
to drive to yours,
to run into your arms.

im tempted.
because i miss you.
i miss your warmth,
your scent --
that cold vanilla
and lavender scent
that was yours,
and only yours.

but most of all
im tempted
to just cry.
crying over you
sounds like a waste of tears.
but it'll just 
have to do.
because for now,
its all i have.
and you're not here.

...and i don't think
you'll be coming
back.

I’m drowning and nobody can hear
I’m suffocating but nobody sees
I’m slowly dying
But not a soul is there to witness it
I’m alone
In a room full of people
My heart is shattered and strained
From loving too much
Love without reciprocation
They see me but they don’t see who I am
What I feel
I spent every wish and piece of luck
Wishing they wouldn’t leave me
Even though I’m drowning
And they’re not there to pull me out

An Open Invitation to All Poets on Hello Poetry

Dear poets,

I’m starting a collaborative writing project called “Our Time Capsule — The 21st Century.”
It’s a collective space where we, as writers of this era, can capture what life feels like right now—through poems, reflections, metaphors, and symbols.

This is not just about politics or technology or trends.
It’s about how it feels to be alive in this century:
The loneliness and the love,
The silence behind the screens,
The beauty, the fear, the ordinary days,
The things we wish the future would understand about us.

You’re warmly invited to join. Write in your own style—haiku, free verse, letters, experimental forms, anything. Just tag your work with:

#OurTimeCapsule
(or mention the project name in the notes)

Let’s create a time capsule made of words, one poem at a time.
Someday, someone may read what we write today and understand our century—not from textbooks, but from our hearts.

If this resonates with you, join in. I’ll be posting mine soon.

— Yashkrit Ray