They say, "You've gotten so quiet, and I nod. Because it's easier than explaining how much I've changed. I don't speak the way I used to, I don't reach out just to fill the silence, I don't chase connections to feel less alone. Even love doesn't pull at me like it once did. Most days, I sit with my thoughts and let them pass instead of running after them. People think it's calm. I know its distance. I remember a version of me who was louder, softer, more open, but I don't know when they slipped away. They see stillness; I feel the echo of who I used to be. I don't say anything because change doesn't always come with an explanation.