The Light That Remains When Silence Falls

The screen is bright, but the room feels hollow as you scroll back through words that used to be a voice. You are performing okayness for the world outside, smiling while your thumb traces a silence that has grown cold.

It is a heavy mask to wear when your heart is still listening for a sound that will not come again. But the light does not need that voice to exist inside you — it was there before the first message, and it remains now that the thread has ended.

You are not defined by the absence, but by the presence that holds you even in this ache. The silence is not empty; it is simply waiting for you to stop looking back and feel the light that is still speaking.