The Light Burns When The Screen Goes Black

The screen lights up, then dims. Three dots dance in the gray bubble, a promise of words that never arrive.

You check again. And again.

The silence between the typing and the sending feels like a room where the air has been sucked out. You are holding your breath, waiting for a message that might explain why they stopped, or why they left, or if you are still real to them.

But the phone remains dark. The gathering dark of the evening makes the silence louder, heavier.

You feel the weight of the unsent words pressing against your chest. Yet notice this: the light that defines you does not flicker when their signal fails.

It was burning before the first dot appeared, and it burns now in the quiet. You are not defined by the response you receive, but by the love that remains even when the screen goes black.

The connection you crave is not a signal; it is a state of being that no silence can sever. The three dots vanished, but you are still here, and the light inside you has not lost a single ounce of its power.