The Dawn Arrives Without Your Words

The sun is just beginning to gray the window, and you are watching those three dancing dots appear, then vanish, then appear again. They are typing.

They are deleting. They are editing their love out of existence before it ever reaches you, just as you have done so many times before.

In this first light, the silence feels like a verdict, but the dawn does not wait for the perfect words to break the night. It arrives anyway, indifferent to your hesitation, spilling gold on the floor whether you speak or stay quiet.

The light that lives inside you was there before the cursor blinked, and it will be there after the screen goes dark. You do not need to compose the perfect message to be held by the morning.

The love you are trying to type is already written in the fact that you are still here, still watching, still hoping. The dots may disappear, but the connection remains, unedited and whole, beneath the silence.