I'm staring at my phone again. Like I have been for hours. The screen lights up every few minutes, and my heart jumps, hoping it's him. But it never is.
It's just someone else — a group chat ping, a friend's text, a random notification. Nothing that matters. Nothing that fills the silence inside me.
I keep telling myself maybe he's busy. Maybe there's a reason.
A million reasons, really, that I don't want to imagine because imagining hurts more than knowing.
But even as I say that, something inside me feels… different. Not broken, not shattered, not even sad anymore. Just… empty.
Like the sadness left, but it didn't leave a space for happiness. It just left silence.
I'm replying to texts like a robot, typing out the usual words, the expected responses. "Hey, I'm here," "That sounds cool," "Let's catch up soon." But none of it feels real.
It's like I'm watching myself from far away, doing things I used to do but without the feeling. Like my voice is a recording, and the words aren't mine, even though they come from my fingertips.
I don't feel anything right now. Neither happiness, nor sadness. Not frustration or anger. Just… a heavy stillness that sits in my chest, like something stuck in my throat I can't swallow or spit out. It's not pain. It's not relief. It's not even numbness in the way people talk about it.
It's a strange, quiet void, a calm that feels more like a stop sign than peace.
And I know this feeling won't go away soon. Or maybe ever.
I'm not going to complain about it. Because complaining would mean I want it to change. But right now, this is easier.
Easier than the chaos of waiting, the anxiety that used to claw at me when the phone didn't buzz for hours. Easier than crying and yelling and hoping for answers. Easier than feeling my heart break a little more every time the silence stretched.
So I sit here with this weight inside me, this strange, unnamed feeling that's neither here nor there.
Every notification still sparks a tiny hope. A flicker. But it's weaker than before. It's a flicker that doesn't catch fire anymore. Just a dull glow that fades quickly. My eyes lose a bit more shine each time the screen lights up and it's not him. Like I'm watching myself fade in slow motion.
I feel dead, but not sad. I feel like a shadow of who I was. Like the person I used to be isn't gone — she's just hidden behind this fog I don't know how to clear. And maybe she's waiting somewhere deep inside me, but I can't find her right now. Not now maybe ever.
I know if he finally messaged, I wouldn't argue. I wouldn't ask where he was or why he didn't answer.
I wouldn't demand explanations or cry over missed words. I would just accept whatever he said, because I don't have the energy to fight anymore. I lost that energy somewhere in the middle of all this waiting, all this hoping, all this being left alone with myself.
I miss who I was before this. Before things started to change and crack and break. Before I became someone who feels this tired all the time, who looks at the world through glass so thick and dark it distorts everything.
But I'm not complaining. I'm not blaming anyone — not him, not myself, not anyone. It's not just him anyways.
It's not just the silence from one person. It's everything. All the years, all the little cuts and bruises life handed me without asking.
Nineteen years of quiet battles, invisible fights, whispered doubts, and silent tears.
I'm not dead, but I'm not alive either. I'm just… here. Like a name on a page, a face in a crowd. A body moving through the motions without feeling the world it moves through.
No smoke can fill this hollow. No drink can numb it. No sharp edges can cut it away. No pills can erase it — not because I haven't tried, but because I don't have the strength to try anymore.
I'm not waiting for a rescue. I'm not waiting for someone to save me. I'm not even sure what saving means anymore.
I don't even want to be saved.
Maybe saving is just this: learning how to breathe through the quiet. Learning how to live with the weight without letting it crush me.
Maybe saving is accepting that some days are just empty. And that's okay.
That's what I'm doing now.
I'm accepting.
I'm here.
Even if it doesn't feel like me.
Even if I don't know who I am anymore.
Because maybe, one day, the fog will lift. Maybe the girl I lost will find her way back. Maybe not. Maybe that's not what matters.
Maybe what matters is that I keep breathing, keep existing, keep moving through the quiet.
Even if it feels like being gone.
Maybe I really am gone .
But I am alive.