17/04/2026
She doesn't photograph herself anymore, doesn't dress up just to feel like herself. The spark she once carried faded slowly — now she just sits in silence, alone with her thoughts.
Nobody talks about this part. The part where she didn't break all at once. Where nothing dramatic happened that she could point to and explain. It was quieter than that. It was a thousand small moments of feeling unseen, unheard, and slowly unimportant to someone she made feel like everything. And one day she looked in the mirror and didn't recognise the woman staring back.
She used to light up rooms. Used to laugh loudly without covering her mouth. Used to have dreams she talked about with excitement in her eyes. That woman didn't disappear overnight. She got tired. She got worn down by loving someone who never quite loved her back the same way. And eventually she stopped showing up for herself because she'd spent everything showing up for him.
That silence she sits in isn't peace. It's exhaustion wearing a quiet face. It's a woman who gave so much of herself she forgot what was left.
But here's what's still true — she's still in there.
Underneath the silence. Underneath the weight of everything she carried alone. The woman she's waiting for never actually left. She's just resting. Healing. Remembering.
And she's almost ready to come back.
(Read that again.)