Fragments of the Quiet Mind

She didn’t knock. She never does. She slipped in through the cracks, between an unanswered message and the sound of your own breath in an empty room. I thought I was alone. Then she sat beside me— not quite touch, not quite ghost— and I realized I’d invited her the moment I stopped trying to be found. She looked nothing like loneliness. She looked like quiet mornings and unfinished thoughts. She smelled of old pages and cold air. And when I met her eyes, I saw my own reflection—just softer, quieter, blurred. I called her company, but she didn’t speak. She just waited, until I filled the silence with everything I never said out loud. We danced once, I think. Or maybe I just swayed while she stood still. Her hand never touched mine, but I swear I felt it where all my noise used to live. She wasn’t cruel. She never asked for anything— just that I stay. And for a while, I did. Because her silence was gentle. And I mistook that for safety. But Solitude is a ...

sometimes, letting go doesn’t happen with a bang. it’s a slow fade-out, like your wifi signal dropping in the middle of a zoom call. this is your faux guide to vanishing gracefully—because who says being forgotten can’t be an art form? Step 1: Respond only in lowercase. no punctuation. no enthusiasm. just the emotional range of a potato. they’ll ask “are you okay?” and you’ll say “lol yeah” every message reads like it was typed from beneath a blanket of emotional detachment. you’re emotionally open the way a gas station bathroom is ‘open’—technically, yes, but no one’s excited to check. eventually, people stop expecting depth. or joy. or… replies. you become the human version of an autocorrect error. forgettable. soft. lowercase You’re basically elevator music now—heard, ignored, and emotionally skipped. Step 2: Exit group chats like a ghost with commitment issues. Don’t announce it. Just slowly react less. Heart-react a meme 3 days late. Laugh at a joke that’s clearly ...