Catalogue

You rewrote the same email six times.

You swore you wouldn't check again. It's 2 a.m., and you're checking.

You can't undo this one. And the spreadsheet keeps coming out even.

The apology was sincere. The trust still hasn't come back.

You lie awake next to someone you love, wondering if you should be there at all.

You're back on the apps, and you don't recognize yourself in your own messages.

You rehearse the call before you make it, then need two days to recover.

They used to tell you everything. Now it's one word and a closed door.

You said something small. They said "Mm" and kept scrolling.

You used to share a room. Now you share a group chat.

Your colleague was difficult for two hours. You were exhausted for forty.

You've been circling the same question for months.

You did well in there. You walked out sure they'll see through you next time.

You've caught yourself counting how many summers are probably left.

It started with one purchase. It ended, again, with two people who feel unseen.

You rolled your eyes at the person you chose. You still love them.

Nothing is wrong. Yet on an ordinary Tuesday, you catch yourself asking: is this it?

At the next table, a couple is arguing. You catch yourself envying them.

You asked where this is going. They went quiet for four days.

They never said it was over. So part of you is still waiting.

You drove home from the family dinner in silence. Then came the same old fight.

You do everything for Mom. Your siblings send a text.

You're in mourning for someone whose phone number still works.