Three Dots

The three dots kept appearing.

Disappearing.

Appearing again.

She was trying to find the words.

I used to wait for them.

Used to read carefully. Reply gently.

I had this small skill—

knowing what to say when someone

was falling apart.

But somewhere between

her first crisis and her seventh,

something in me went quiet.

This time the dots appeared and I just

closed the app.

Didn't think. Didn't wait.

Just swiped away.

She typed again. I made tea.

She typed again. I was already

somewhere else.

By day three the dots had stopped.

She'd moved on to someone else,

and I felt something finally

slip away—

like a coat I'd been wearing

too long,

like a weight I could finally

put down.

The strange part:

I feel lighter now.

That's what guilt looks like,

I think.

Or relief.

Or both,

twisted together,

impossible to separate.