It’s not a person I miss. It’s the deafening silence that swallowed all the chaos—the void left when the noise finally quit pretending it mattered. That hollow pause where the echoes of all the fights, laughs, and empty promises died slow and cruel.
Funny how the silence wasn’t comfort. It was a black hole sucking up what little was left of hope. Not absence, but annihilation. I don’t miss the noise. I fear the silence—that pitiless quiet that forces you to meet yourself, no distractions allowed.
Because sometimes, missing isn’t about who’s gone. It’s about what never really existed.
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