It formed in the hush between questions and forgotten names.
A slow-born ache pressed smooth by silence,
layered by everything she could never say.
She kept it... close as breath held too long,
as love unreturned.
It shimmered not with pride but protection,
as if the sea itself had entrusted her sorrow with a jewel.
No one saw it. No one deserved to.
It was hers, the only proof that she had ever survived being unloved.
Not a treasure... a memory of softness she refused to trade for recognition.
Not hidden... but held,
in the place where longing meets the refusal to beg.
Even the waves dared not ask.
Even the moon sank quiet when it brushed her ribs and sensed that this was not a wound
to steal from.
The pearl remained: the echo of all she was never given, but never stopped carrying.