I am tired
of shrinking in other people's stories.

Tired of meaning nothing
to those who once meant everything.
Not lovers.
Not heartbreaks dressed up as romance.
Friends.
People who knew my rhythms
who laughed in my kitchens
who promised continuity
without ever saying the word.

They vanished quietly.
No fight.
No explanation.
Just silence where connection used to live.
Months pass
and I am left holding conversations
that ended without punctuation.

Over and over.

I replay every moment
looking for the mistake
the wrong tone
the missed cue
as if disappearing acts
require my permission.
As if ghosting is something
I caused by caring
too visibly.

Over and over.

Each time it happens
something in me learns less.
Less trust.
Less reach.
Less belief
that permanence is real
outside my own body.
I keep showing up
and people keep fading
like I am a lesson
they needed once
and never again.

Over and over.

I am tired
but I am still here.
Still choosing presence
in a world that treats absence
like a skill.
Still standing
with my hands open
even as the room empties
again
and again
and again.