The silence after sending feels like a body leaving the room

It’s 5:03 a.m. and I just hit send on a message that wasn’t meant to be answered. Not because it was wrong, but because it was too true—too close to what I’ve been holding in since the last time someone said they understood me. Now the screen is dark, and the quiet isn’t empty. It’s full of the weight of being seen, and the slow dread of what comes next when clarity stops being a relief and starts feeling like surrender.