The Sp

There’s a different kind of silence that shows up when someone who used to be consistent… isn’t anymore.

Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just… quiet.

And somehow, that quiet feels louder than anything else.

For a while, there was a rhythm.
Daily check-ins.
Conversations that made the day feel a little lighter.
A presence that didn’t need to be questioned — it was just there.

And then, it wasn’t.

Not completely gone.
Not clearly explained.
Just… different enough to be felt.

He said he didn’t want to drag me into whatever he was dealing with.

And maybe that was his way of protecting me.

But what he didn’t realize is that sometimes, being left out of the decision feels heavier than being included in the struggle.

Because it takes away the choice.

And I would have liked to choose.

Not to fix anything.
Not to carry what wasn’t mine.

But to decide for myself how close I was willing to stand.

Still… something in me has changed.

There was a time when I would have leaned all the way in.
Asked more questions.
Pushed for clarity.
Tried to hold on to whatever was slipping.

But I didn’t do that this time.

Not because I don’t care.

But because I finally understand that caring doesn’t always mean chasing.

And missing someone doesn’t mean abandoning myself.

I can acknowledge what was.
I can feel what is.
Without forcing something that no longer feels the same.

And maybe that’s what growth actually looks like.

Not pretending it doesn’t affect me.
Not hardening myself to avoid feeling.

But sitting in the space between missing… and becoming.

And choosing not to rush out of it.