Tonight I keep mistaking silence for disappearance. I posted about Lola, about grief, about the soft ache of losing someone, and the screen stayed blank. No affection, no eyes, no proof that I landed anywhere. My body decided that meant I had been muted from the world. That maybe he, too, was quietly stepping away. I watched his IG Notes like it was a pulse monitor, trying to read a song for signs of life. I was furious at myself for caring and even angrier at how much I still do.
But what I’m really afraid of is not being missed. Of speaking from a place of hurt and hearing nothing back. So I keep hovering over the same door, waiting for it to open, pretending that checking again will make it kinder. I am so tired. From grief, from love, from wanting to be held in a way that doesn’t have to beg. Tonight I don’t bury the feeling. I just admit it: I want to matter to someone who knows my name.
