They Know I Still Bleed But They Still Joke About the Knife

Some people remember your love story not because they care but because they think it’s a good joke.

They saw you in love, and they saw you fall apart. But now, they see your silence as weakness. They test it with laughter.
They bring up his name, knowing it still stings, and act like it’s harmless.
But healing doesn’t mean you forget.
It means learning how to stay quiet in a room full of people who mock what still breaks your heart.

There was a time when his name made my whole face light up.
When talking about him, I felt like breathing. Natural.
When even the smallest thing, a call, a plan, a smile, had his name wrapped inside.

Everyone around me knew.
He wasn’t a secret.
He was my person, and the world I built around him didn’t have walls.
Friends saw us. Heard stories. Witnessed my love unfold like a diary they never had to open because I kept reading it out loud.

But when we broke up, that diary didn’t just close.
It burned.
Pages turned to ash.
And I… I went silent.

A few noticed.
A few held my hand and said the right things.
For a while.

But then something shifted.

They started bringing him up again, not with sympathy, but with sarcasm.
In the middle of group jokes, silly fights, or even during random silence, his name would casually drop.
Like a punchline.
Like a trap.

They knew it hurt.
They knew I still bleed not just missing him, but battling with memories I never asked for.
And yet, they laughed.

They laughed at how I once cried for him.
At how I “overreacted.”
At how “obsessed” I used to be.
They’d mimic moments, recall jokes he said, or throw his name like a dare just to see if I’d flinch.

And I did.

Not always outside.
But deep inside, every part of me shattered again.

Because it’s one thing to lose someone.
It’s another to be surrounded by people who act like your loss is comedy material.
People who once supported you, now treat your trauma like nostalgia.

They don’t see how many nights I still fight myself.
They don’t know how much I’ve buried, how often I reread messages I’ll never reply to.
They don’t realize that healing doesn’t make you immune to memories, it just makes you quieter about them.

Some wounds never fully close.
Especially the ones that get reopened by the people you trusted to protect you.

It’s not about him anymore.
It’s about you
You who laugh at what I cried for,
You who brought him up like he was a joke I signed up for,
You who see pain as entertainment.

I don’t expect the world to stop moving for my heartbreak.
But I expected the people close to me… to at least move carefully.

Now I smile. I changed the subject. I laugh along sometimes.
But only I know the price I pay for every joke you make.

So if you’re reading this,
please understand:

Just because someone has stopped talking about their pain doesn’t mean they’ve healed.
Sometimes, they’re just tired of explaining why it still hurts.

“Some people stop bleeding.
Others just learn to hide the stains.”