The Archive of Things Left Unsaid
One Day I’ll Burn It All
There’s a hidden place inside me no map can ever find. I’ve spent my entire life pretending it doesn’t exist. And I’ve never taken anyone there, not even the one who swears they know everything about me.
It lives quietly, neither in my heart nor in my mind, but somewhere in between, like a locked store room decorated with a polite smile. You walk past it every day. You know what’s behind it. You just… don’t go there.
This place is my archive. The archive of things I never said.
That room has no window, no light, and no air to survive. It just has rows and rows of emotional clutter, and is full of things I couldn’t say, didn’t say, or wasn’t brave enough to say. It’s not just a room but a sealed tomb of everything I buried.
Some of them are old and covered with dust. Fights I avoided. Feelings I buried, and pain hidden behind a laughter because that’s what strong people do, right?
Some are fresh and raw.
On the top shelf, I keep my “I love you”s. Not the simple kind, but the deep and aching ones. They sat heavily on my tongue. I didn’t say that aloud, not because I wasn’t feeling it. I remained silent because I didn’t trust what you’d do with my truth. Would you catch them gently? Or throw them like they meant nothing?
Maybe those “I love you”s could’ve changed the whole story, or maybe nothing at all. But I’ll never know.
And that’s the heartbreak.
Right next to them are my “I’m sorrys.” The one that I wanted to say badly, but didn’t because of my pride.
“Sorry for not being there when you needed me”, “Sorry for my rude behaviour”, “Sorry for acting like I don’t care”, “Sorry for not fulfilling your expectations.”
The ones I owed to the people I love, but never gave.
I told myself it was too late, or it was embarrassing, or that they wouldn’t care, or that I didn’t owe anyone anything.
But honestly? I didn’t want to look small. Didn’t want to kneel in the softness when I’d spent so long building walls.
So they sat there like a debt that I never repaid, and collecting interest of guilt.
Then there’s a section, “Please don’t go.”
Every type of silent plea is present here. The words I never said when people slipped through my life. The Whispers are still buried in my throat. Messages I typed and deleted. Calls I almost made with trembling hands.
But I didn’t send the text or make the call.
Not because I didn’t care. But because I cared too much.
Because asking someone to stay felt like admitting that I couldn’t hold myself alone. And I was raised to hold it altogether, even when everything is falling apart.
That’s wild about this room. It’s full of love, but also of ego and pride.
Welcome to the “What I should’ve said when you hurt me.” This section is the hardest to look at.
It holds all the moments when I chose silence over confrontation.
When I said “It’s okay,” but it wasn’t, when I said “I’m fine”, when I was anything but fine.
I thought silence made me strong, and not reacting made me mature.
But in reality, I didn’t know how to process, feel, or express my pain.
And between heartbreak and hesitation, there’s a small, forgotten corner called“Thank you.”
I never said those either.
I never said, Thank you for talking to me for hours when I couldn’t even form a sentence, for holding my hand when I was crying and wanted to disappear, for making me laugh, for reminding me that I was enough when I was comparing myself to others, for sitting with my silence without asking me to be louder.The biggest thank you for telling me you’d be there at my lowest, and proving it.
I never said it.
Not out loud.
Not in a message.
Not in a moment.
Because gratitude felt too vulnerable. Softness scared me.
So I placed those “thank you”s here, in the same room where all the other pieces of me went.
And then there’s the anger. The raw, burning kind. My anger doesn’t explode, it simmers. It is Quiet and Controlled. But still hot enough to leave a scar.
Anger is flying everywhere in this room with burning wings:
“That one time you made me feel small”, “The moment I realized you’d never say sorry”, “That time you laughed when I was vulnerable”, “When you called it honesty, but it was just cruelty.”
People always talk about grief and heartbreak and guilt, but anger?
Everyone told us to hide our anger.
Girls like me are raised to be quiet, kind, and good. We are taught that good girls don’t shout, don’t make a scene, or make people uncomfortable. I was taught to swallow my rage with a smile. To keep the peace, even when it costs us ourselves.
So I smiled even when I wanted to scream.
I convinced myself that silence was a form of grace.
But I’m finally starting to understand that unspoken words don’t disappear. They live in the corner of your chest, growing heavy and sharp. They echo. They keep you up at night until you can’t breathe.
And sometimes I lie awake and wonder
What would my life have become if I had just… said it?
All of it, the messy, terrifying, honest parts.
If I had asked the questions, I was too afraid to ask and stayed still long enough to hear the answers.
If I had screamed when I was being erased.
If I had said “I love you” without swallowing the words.
If I had said “You broke me,” without dressing it up in grace.
Maybe everything would’ve fallen apart, or maybe it would’ve finally fallen into place.
I may never know.
But what I do know is this: the archive is heavy. It’s loud and it’s mine.
Maybe one day, I’ll stop filing my pain like paperwork. One day, I’ll light the whole archive on fire. And let the ashes say everything I never could.
we all have that cabinet we want to avoid... sometimes, it's mistakes we regret so much...I guess it's best to feel those feelings, just as you've beautifully and painfully described them and move forward...