The Sound of Me

Right then. I put down the handset, entirely spent on this parasitic habit of playing the engine, driving the plot for a cast of characters who couldn't be bothered to cross the perimeters unless there’s a favor they critically need. I’m leaving the group chat on read, let it bleed into absolute nothing. It’s brilliant, actually, watching the social life crumble so factually. And I used to get bitter... But now I just paralyze the whole operation. It’s amazing how quiet the inbox becomes when you stop making an effort, just twiddling your thumbs, waiting for check-ins that never materialize. A clean fucking slate. No ‘where are you hiding’ or ‘sorry I'm late.’ I’d be crying about it if I gave a shit, but the truth of the matter is I’m over it. Take Sarah, appearing whenever she’s spiraling, panicking over the bloke she is dialing, or Dave and his gigs that he wants me to plug— I’ve pulled out the cord and I’m having a pint, letting them wander around in the blind. The red receipts glaring a cynical blue, it’s incredibly peaceful not catering to you, or anyone else who is taking the piss. I honestly didn't know boredom was bliss. It’s amazing how quiet the inbox becomes when you stop making an effort, just twiddling your thumbs, waiting for check-ins that never materialize. A clean fucking slate. No ‘where are you hiding’ or ‘sorry I'm late.’ I’d be crying about it if I gave a shit, but the truth of the matter is I’m over it. A one-sided street with a terrible skyline, I’m done being the permanent, resident helpline. The notifications are taking a breather. You're not reaching out? Well, I’m not bothered either. I folded the map and I emptied the till, and the silence is deafening, honestly. Brilliant. Not a ping. Not a ring. Just the sound of me, sipping my tea. Yeah, you’re missing me now, but you’re dead to me. Cheers then.