Goodbyes are rarely the dramatic moments we imagine. We think they’ll be loud—final, decisive, with all the weight of an ending hanging in the air. But in reality, goodbyes often take their time, slipping in quietly, unnoticed until they’ve already happened. It’s never one single moment, but a slow withdrawal, a gradual absence. The first missed text doesn’t feel like much. The second time they cancel plans doesn’t seem like a signal. But over time, these small moments accumulate, and one day you realize they’ve stopped calling, stopped reaching out. You don’t know when it happened exactly—just that it did. It’s a strange thing, how people can disappear without making a sound. You can still see their name on your phone, hear their voice in your head, but in the space between you, there’s a silence that didn’t exist before. It's not an ending. It’s a slow, deliberate pulling away—one step at a time, until there’s a distance too great to bridge. Some goodbyes don’t shout. They’re ...
I dwell in the spaces where shadows meet light, where questions outnumber answers. A seeker of truths buried deep, I write to unearth what lies beneath the surface. In the chaos, I find my voice. In the silence, I find myself.