Being invisible, I realized, is not disappearing. It is refusing to be a ghost for other people’s convenience. It is saying: you may not see me right now, but I am building something that will outlast your gaze.
Then, slowly, the nothing became a room. A quiet, honest room with no mirrors facing outward. Inside that room, I wrote poems that made no sense to anyone but me. I painted shapes that didn’t need to be “branded.” I cried without narrating the crying. I laughed because something was actually funny, not because it would look good in a caption. ala melissa set
The world will keep spinning. The notifications will pile up. The applause — if it ever comes — will arrive too late or too early or not at all. Being invisible, I realized, is not disappearing
Let me explain.
Not silent. Not absent. Just… invisible. Then, slowly, the nothing became a room
I used to think visibility was the goal. The louder the presence, the clearer the existence. But somewhere between the performance of living and the actual act of it, I learned something that cracked me open: you cannot bloom in a room where everyone is shouting your name.