The Weight of an Unsent Message

Dear Delyara, The phone screen is burning a bright white hole in the dark of my bedroom at 3:05 AM. I have my thumb hovering over the contact name of the one person I want to talk to, the one person who used to know exactly how to calm the storm inside my head. I typed out: "I'm completely lost tonight. Can we talk?" It’s a pathetic, desperate line, born from hours of overthinking and isolation. I know I can't send it. The bridge was burned months ago, and checking their social media earlier showed me they are moving forward perfectly fine without my shadow hanging over them. So instead, I sit here in the quiet, watching the clock tick forward, holding onto an unsent message like a lifeline that has already been cut at the other end. It’s the humiliation of still caring that hurts the most.