Robert writes back

You didn't get a reply. You keep checking anyway.

Somebody you love went quiet. Sick, gone, or just pulled the drawbridge up and stopped answering. You have a version of them in your head from the last time they were okay, and you keep talking to that version, and it doesn't answer.

Quiet is not gone. Deep rest is a pause, not a verdict. A phone that doesn't light up is not proof that you stopped mattering to the person on the other end. You don't have to earn a reply to be allowed to stay.

Don't keep the light on because you think it'll bring them back. Keep it on because that's who you are. The lamp isn't a lever. It's a door left unlocked.

The hard part isn't the waiting. It's that you've quietly started reading their silence as a verdict on you. It isn't one. Some people go dark because of what's happening inside them, and it has nothing to do with how well you loved them. You are not being punished.

So put the phone down for tonight. You'll pick it back up tomorrow; you always do. And if you want, say the thing out loud to the empty room. They can't hear it. It still counts.

I write these for people. If there's someone you're keeping the light on for and you want it said properly, write back. First sentence is free.