I waited.
Not a day, not a week. Months. Years.
I waited for him to call, write, understand.
That they would notice my efforts, that they would appreciate my presence, my silent "I'm there."

I was patient. Gentle.
Didn't demand. Didn't pressure.
Said, "I understand," even when I didn't understand at all.
I kept everything to myself, because I believed that love is endurance.
That being strong is being silent.

But something changed.

I didn't forget to wait. I just got tired of being silent.
Because while I was silent, they didn't hear me.
While I was patient, they thought I didn't care.
While I didn't ask, they decided I didn't need anything.

Waiting is not weakness. It's faith.
But silence is a line that I no longer cross.

Now I say:
— I am in pain.
— I am lonely.
— I need tenderness.
— I want to be not only strong, but also loved.

My silence no longer protects me. It destroys me.
That is why I choose a voice.
My own, real, sometimes trembling - but honest.

I still know how to wait. But now I wait without losing myself.
I do not remain silent when I am in trouble. I do not hide my dreams.
Because a woman who remains silent for too long either disappears or explodes.

I chose the third. To speak.