the way a certain phrase, completely mundane, can just hang there, un-hooked from anything, no internal twitch to catch it, like a thought that used to have a gravitational pull, now just… floating past, entirely free, almost, but not quite, that old urge to latch onto the smallest flicker. it’s wild to notice the absence of the absence, the missing THING that used to ignite a whole chain reaction inside my ribs, that familiar clenching around nothing that once meant EVERYthing, the way my fingers used to automatically go cold, almost a full body flinch for a connection that wasn't even there in the first place, or for one that was only ever imagined. I used to think that kind of instant, visceral response meant something profound, that the internal chaos was proof of my capacity for feeling, for love even, but now there's just... a level surface, a steady thrum like the distant LA traffic outside my window, and it feels like a victory, even if it’s a victory for simply existing without all that internal noise.