𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙣
is the echo of being unseen,
especially by the one
you’d tear yourself open for.

Nothing stings deeper
than the fleeting thrill
of being noticed—
only to find
you were just a shadow
of someone else in their eyes.

That moment—
when your heart’s quick thrum
starts to falter,
when the butterflies in your stomach
melt into silence,
wings torn by truth.

The disappointment follows—
slow and sure,
like your favorite scene buffering
just before the ******,
all because the signal was too weak
to carry what mattered.

This—
this is the ache that lingers.
Not seen on skin,
but etched beneath it.
A pain not physical,
but eternal.