Writers 
I left quietly, not with a slam, but with a fingertip, a tap that whispered leave. No paragraph, no goodbye, no explanation, just a small grey line amid chatter: You left. That line feels louder than any argument we had.
I wondered who would notice, who would scroll past without pausing, who would ask why in private, and who felt relieved to see the space I left behind.
Groups are strange. Full of people once close, laughing daily, now just names I mute, archive, watch from afar, carrying conversations I no longer belong to, jokes I no longer get.
I did not leave because I hated anyone. I left because staying felt heavier than being the one who left, heavier than being remembered as the one who disappeared.
Now I think about erasing that line, as if deleting the message could delete the moment, as if clearing the chat could clear the feeling in my chest.
But some exits need to be seen. Some doors need to stay closed, to remind us why we walked out. So let the line stay. Let them see I left, not out of anger, but finally, quietly, out of peace.
Peace that keeps me going
Energy I needed .
