Faith Pov 2021 | Angie

Everyone thinks they know what silence sounds like in my head. They think it’s a pop song. A catchy chorus about confidence or heartbreak. But the real silence is louder. It’s the sound of a crowd cheering for a version of me that stops existing the moment the stage lights die.

This is the real performance. Not the sold-out arena. Not the red carpet. It’s the act of letting myself be held when I feel like shattering. It’s believing, for eight hours of darkness, that I am just Angie. angie faith pov

And that Angie is enough.

I dry my face with a towel that smells like lavender, not like the stale champagne and smoke clinging to my dress from last night’s gala. I pad barefoot across the cold floor, leaving the bright, harsh truth of the bathroom behind. Everyone thinks they know what silence sounds like

I turn the faucet. Cold water floods my cupped hands. I splash it on my face, not to wake up—I’ve been awake for three days, running on coffee and anxiety—but to feel something real. The shock of the cold is a sharp, clean note in a symphony of noise. But the real silence is louder

I lean over the marble sink, knuckles white against the cold stone. My reflection stares back—a girl I’ve known my whole life, yet one I keep surprising. My hair is down, no longer sculpted into the perfect, bouncy waves the camera loves. It’s just strands. Brown. Tangled. Human.

The Weight of the Crown