Not all wounds bleed outward.

Some sit inside you, heavy and unwitnessed. And the world keeps moving like nothing happened. Like you aren't carrying something that was never yours to carry in the first place.

Sometimes things get so heavy, so unbearably unjust, that logic stops being enough.

Sometimes the silence gets so heavy it stops feeling like absence and starts feeling like a cage. There are moments when the world feels so deeply, so violently wrong — that you stop praying softly. You find yourself reaching beyond it. Hoping for something larger than what you can see. Not from people. But from the universe itself.

For some silences end not with a whisper.

But with a command.