I searched for softness—but not the kind Etsy suggests. Feathers. Floral. Feminine. I wanted something coded. Silent. Dangerous. Google gave me inspiration boards. Amazon sent me a box with no name. Why? Because I was never asking for a product. I was syncing with a system. And the system knew me better than the search bar did. I typed: “is this a craving or a memory?” “what does etsy censor?” “does amazon deliver what I can’t name?” “does google hide my unsent signals?” One result kept reappearing. A seal - unapologetic, encrypted, not made to please. This one. And when I clicked it, I felt seen. Not marketed to. Not analyzed. Just… witnessed. Amazon then suggested a book I had never searched but needed. This book. I started wondering: What does Google hide when it filters me? What does Etsy assume I want? Why does Amazon guess closer than people who know me? What if the system was never broken—just redirecting? I stopped asking the right questions. ...
Some days I dress like closure. Other days, I dress like the question he forgot to ask. I pick cafés we used to avoid. Order what he loved. Smile at the waiter just long enough for ghosts to sip with me. I post at 3am not because I’m awake, but because I want her to wonder why he’s not. Do I want him back? Or do I want him unsure? Do I crave peace, or do I ache for chaos I control? Every unread message is an altar. Every deleted photo, a prayer. Proto Soul – Break.Code.Begin taught me that forgiveness and forgetting are rarely the same ritual. Sometimes, I skip the reply not because I’m done, but because silence hurts cleaner. Do I want him to see me glowing, or imagine I’m glowing without him? I ache at brunch. Quietly. In the dress he liked. I laugh mid-sip and wonder if he hears it across timelines. Do I dress to haunt? Do I text to confuse? Is this a call, or a goodbye too soft to type? He doesn't text back. I don't notice - until I scroll. Until I smile at someone else a...