Black Letters: Entry 002

Late evening. Kitchen light.
I'm on my phone, too deep into whatever it is I’m pretending to care about.

He’s pacing.
The Shadow’s reading, again. Quietly tracking every breath in the room.

He snaps:

— “You ever gonna come back from that screen?”
— “Or is your real home just digital now?”

I don’t even look up.

— “Five more minutes.”

The Shadow — calm, but tired:

— “It’s the third night in a row.”

I shoot back, sharper than I meant to:

— “I can’t just unplug. I need this. I’ve got things to deal with.”

He barks:

— “What things?”
— “I’ve been standing here like background for weeks. Should I DM you too, maybe then I’ll get noticed?”

And I’m angry.
Not because he’s wrong —
but because I hate being pulled back
when I’m just trying to stay functional.

The Shadow doesn’t say much. But I can feel the question before he even asks it:

— “You don’t owe us constant presence.
But we don’t owe you pretending we’re not waiting.
Just say it. Is there… more important than here?”

I freeze.
I don’t want to lie.
And I don’t want to tell the truth either.

So I say the only thing that feels true:

— “I don’t know.
Everything’s blurred.
I need both.
But right now… it’s easier to stay there.”

He doesn’t yell this time.

He just nods — once — and walks out.
Door.
Silence.

The Shadow stays. Lifts his eyes to me.

— “Sometimes silence is an answer.
But only if you choose who it’s for.”

🔐 I never meant to drift.
But some part of me needed quiet more than connection.

And some people don’t wait for explanations.