I noticed a little blood when I spat
The first time, it looked like pink foam.
She brushed again to be sure.
Same thing.
She rinsed longer.
Used less pressure.
But the color stayed.
Not every time, but often enough.
She didn’t say anything.
Not yet.
It didn’t hurt.
It wasn’t much.
So it felt skippable.
But it never really left.
It wasn’t pain—it was swelling
He ran his tongue along his gums.
They felt thicker.
Fuller somehow.
No pain.
No bleeding.
But different.
He stared at his smile in the mirror.
Didn’t know what he was looking for.
Just sensed something had changed.
My floss smelled different
It didn’t smell like food.
It smelled like metal.
Like old pennies.
Just at the back.
Left molar.
She flossed again that night.
Same bitter scent.
Same exact place.
It started bothering her more than the bleeding.
There was a metallic taste I couldn’t explain
Brushing didn’t help.
Mouthwash didn’t either.
He tasted it most in the morning.
It faded by lunch.
Came back before bed.
It lived behind his front teeth.
He started avoiding strong flavors.
Thought it was his tongue.
It wasn’t.
My gums pulled back slowly
She didn’t notice at first.
Then one day, her teeth looked longer.
Not wider—just taller.
She remembered how they used to look in photos.
The difference was subtle.
But it stuck with her.
Then came the cold drinks.
She flinched the first time.
Didn’t expect that kind of pain.
It wasn’t deep.
Just sharp and instant.
I didn’t know gums could look shiny
They looked like they were sweating.
Slick.
Almost wet even when dry.
He touched them with clean fingers.
They were warm.
Not painful.
But visibly different from before.
They had a swollen gleam to them.
And no one had warned him this could happen.
There was pressure, not pain
He bit into toast and something felt off.
Like the gum was pushing back.
Not sharp
But dense.
Thick.
It didn’t change the taste.
But it changed the sensation.
And made him stop halfway through breakfast.
My teeth felt looser when I pressed on them
She poked her front tooth out of curiosity.
It shifted.
Just slightly.
Only when pressed.
But it was enough.
She did it again, three times.
Then spent a whole day not thinking of anything else.
Flossing started to feel more difficult
It snagged.
More than once.
Not between every tooth
But always the same three.
She started skipping them.
Told herself she’d go back later.
She didn’t.
The bleeding came from the same place every time
Back right molar.
Always.
No matter how gentle she was.
No matter how new the toothbrush.
She expected pink now.
Prepared for it.
Sometimes rinsed before brushing—just in case.
My breath got worse even after brushing
He brushed twice before work.
Used minty rinse.
Still something stayed.
Not foul.
Just heavy.
Like something old was stuck inside his gums.
He chewed gum nonstop.
It didn’t help much.
I didn’t think it was gum disease because nothing hurt
He thought diseases screamed.
This one whispered.
Slowly.
It didn’t interrupt his days.
Not yet.
But it altered them quietly.
Tiny shifts in comfort, scent, sensation.
All too subtle to name.
Until it wasn’t.
It felt like my teeth were drifting apart
Her front teeth had always touched.
Now they didn’t.
A sliver of space had appeared.
Barely visible.
But she saw it.
And once she saw it
She couldn’t unsee it.
I got sores that healed too slowly
Small ones.
Nothing dramatic.
But they lingered.
A week.
Sometimes two.
Always on the inside of the lip
Near the gumline
Right where her toothbrush brushed the hardest
Cold water started feeling sharp
The first sip surprised her.
Not pain—more like a jolt.
From the base of one tooth.
She tested it again
Same place
Same sting
I avoided apples without realizing why
She used to bite them whole.
Now she sliced them.
Without thinking.
Because the front teeth felt unsure.
Like the pressure was too much.
And that small fear turned into a new habit.
My jaw felt tired for no reason
Not from chewing.
Not from talking.
Just tightness.
Especially at night.
He woke up clenching.
Didn’t know why.
Until the hygienist asked about it.
I started chewing only on one side
Subconsciously
To protect the side that didn’t feel right
It wasn’t painful
Just off
So he shifted
And the imbalance grew quietly
I stopped smiling fully
Because my gums looked too high
Or too red
Or too uneven
Photos became uncomfortable
The difference was small
But she saw it
And pulled her lips tighter over time
My toothbrush started wearing out faster
The bristles flared early
Wore down within weeks
Because she was brushing harder
Trying to erase something she couldn’t name
Aggression filled the routine
I noticed tissue between my teeth fading
That triangle of pink
Used to be full
Now it thinned
Left gaps
Spaces where food stayed longer
And didn’t come out with one rinse
I felt nothing—and that became the most dangerous part
No swelling
No smell
No taste
But change
Visible
Measurable
And ignored
Because silence can be more comfortable than action