Follow Requests
I didn’t think losing you would feel like losing an entire world,
but I spent so much time trying to make sure it didn’t come to that.
I kept rewriting everything before I said it.
Making my anger smaller.
Trying to say the truth in a way that wouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable,
like if I was gentle enough,
careful enough,
maybe nothing else would break.
I think I knew, somewhere,
that there was no perfect way to do this.
Once something happens,
once everyone knows, or some people know,
or maybe everyone knows a different version of it,
you can’t really put the family back the way it was.
For a while I was scared of you.
Now I’m not.
I’m just tired of being surprised by what people are willing to do
when it’s easier than facing what happened.
Then your follow request appeared.
No message.
No how are you.
Nothing that would make me think
you actually wanted to talk to me.
Just a button.
There it was,
sitting between pictures of vacations and people I’m no longer part of,
like maybe you were just checking.
Checking if I was still there.
Checking if the door was still unlocked.
And I know what reaching out feels like.
This wasn’t that.
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I still feel that old instinct sometimes,
that little pull to be good,
to send the birthday message,
to say happy birthday even when nobody asks how I’m doing,
to stay polite because that’s what a good niece does,
what a good granddaughter does.
I don’t even know when being kind became something I had to use
to prove I wasn’t the problem.
But I’m tired.
I’m tired of being the one who keeps the connection alive
and then wondering why it feels so empty.
Because if I open that door again,
I don’t think you’re coming in.
I think I’m just giving you another piece of me
to take back to a family table
where I’m not sitting anymore.
Another story about me.
Another version of me made from whatever is left
when I’m not there to speak for myself.
So I’m leaving the request there.
Not because I’m angry.
Not because I want you to hurt.
I just don’t want to keep confusing being remembered
with being wanted.
And maybe that’s what I finally understand.
There’s a difference between someone reaching for you
and someone checking to see
if you’re still within reach.
