I got your message.

No, not the text you typed, the letter you wrote or the voicemail you left me. 

I’m still waiting for those to get to me.

But I did receive all the messages that you never sent me. 

The ones that say everything, without saying anything. 

The ones that show up when you don’t want to.

The ones that remind me just how loud silence can be. 

The ones that hurt more than honesty.

I think part of me just wanted someone who would reciprocate the energy that I put forth. 

Not just emotionally, but mentally.

Someone who loved as heavily and cared as steadily — voiced their intentions incessantly, especially when my own voice got too far ahead of me.

But those weren’t the messages you were sending me because you were too busy avoiding me. 

Ignoring me. 

Neglecting me.

Neglecting the friendship I was willing to give so effortlessly.

The ‘no apologies necessary’ that I was willing to apologize for endlessly.

The closed doors that I open sesame’d so selflessly just to watch your absence — your silence — walk through them so recklessly. 

Without me. 

Those — I repeat – those were the messages you were sending me. 

The messages I was receiving so helplessly.

The same mmessages helping me see just how far I’ve come because the old me — he would’ve responded so differently. 

So obsessively.

See, the old me would’ve sent another hopeless text with a knot in his chest and a hole where his breast used to be. 

Ignoring the obvious of what happens next.

Ignoring all the messages that you couldn’t express.

He would’ve assumed he said something wrong, felt ashamed for wanting more, measured his value by someone else’s effort and blamed himself for someone else’s mess.

Blamed himself until there was nothing left. 

He would’ve waited for something that wasn’t coming. 

Pushed and pulled strings no one else was tugging and started discussions he had no business discussing.

Rushing to conclusions he had no business touching.

The old me would’ve done these things — not because he didn’t know any better. 

But because he didn’t think he deserved any better.

But that was the old me. 

The new me? 

The new me doesn’t just hear silence — he listens to it. 

Accepts it. 

Releases it. 

He doesn’t sit around and wait for messages that were never his. 

And certainly doesn’t mistake someone else’s absence for something he has to fix. 

I guess it’s true when they say some disasters don’t have to be so… 

Disastrous. 

Silence, after all — that’s what the message is. 

And there’s no need to dig for what’s left of it. 

I don’t need any more or less of it. 

Because silence, I repeat, silence.

That’s what the lesson is.