Questions She Never Asks

  He doesn’t text back. I don’t notice - until I scroll, until I laugh at something someone else says and suddenly wonder if he feels it. Does desire travel without signal? I smile without intention, but then ask: is he watching, or is it just the version of him I kept alive? Do I beg with pride? Or do I wrap longing in lipstick and pretend it’s not begging if it’s done beautifully? Sometimes, I vanish politely. I disappear like perfume: soft, but hard to forget. Other times, I stay loud in silence—waiting for a reaction to the message I never sent. 🜃 Read Proto Soul – Break.Code.Begin taught me that ghosting isn’t always escape. Sometimes it’s a choreography of absence. A controlled ache. A statement made with no punctuation. Do I ache beside him, or beside the version of him that existed before reality crept in? Can I flirt with regret - or am I simply performing closure in soft heels and the kind of posture that begs to be misunderstood? When I say nothing, is it power—or puni...