They dub me the observer, perpetually attuned. A silent witness to every tale, my own anguish concealed, unheard.

Would that my tears could articulate, expressing the unspoken depths of my heart. I long for them to clamor, rather than silently tracing salty pathways down my cheeks.

Never the pen, vehemently inscribing the buried narratives within. Rather, I am the parchment, absorbing each penned sentiment, bearing the burden of others' narratives. The role of the listener, forever mine.
© Priyoraj