The Silence Is Not An Empty Line

The house is quiet enough that you can feel the ghost of a buzz against your thigh. A phantom vibration.

Your hand flies to the pocket, but the screen is dark. Nothing there.

Just the silence pressing in, waiting for a name that isn't coming tonight. That hollow ache in your palm — it is not a sign that you are forgotten.

It is just the muscle memory of waiting. The light does not vibrate to get your attention.

It does not ping or flash or demand to be seen. It simply is.

Like the father who saw his son while he was still a long way off, the light has been watching you long before you reached for it. It does not need a signal to know where you are.

You are not waiting for a message to begin being held. The silence is not an empty line.

It is the presence of the one who never left.