missing someone while choosing silence is a different kind of suffering.
It’s staring at your phone with words burning at your fingertips, then swallowing them whole because you know reaching out would only reopen wounds that never really healed.
Not because the love is gone, but because it’s still there, too alive, too fragile, too dangerous.
So you sit with it. With the ache, the memories, the unsent paragraph
These days, people rarely make an effort to stay in touch. If you don’t reach out first, almost no one will check on you unless they need something from you.