Fragments of the Quiet Mind

  I once drafted a three-paragraph reply to a message that only said “cool.” Then I deleted it and sent a thumbs-up. Not because the longer version was wrong—but because it felt too much . Too honest, too layered, too likely to be misunderstood in a world that measures meaning by brevity and speed. That blinking “typing…” bubble is its own kind of limbo. A space where we practice vulnerability without risk. A modern confessional booth with no priest on the other side—just the fear of being “seen” the wrong way. It’s easier to live in the anticipation of a message than to deal with its consequences. We’ve mastered the art of holding back. You draft a message to clarify your tone, to explain your silence, to ask a question that matters—and then you close the app. Not because you changed your mind, but because you started imagining the worst possible reply. Or no reply at all. So you send a meme instead. Something safe. Something that doesn’t require anyone to actually respond —ju...