It used to be comfortable—the kind where you didn’t need words to feel close. Now it stretches too long, too heavy, like something unsaid is sitting between you both, suffocating the air. They’re sitting across from you, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly. Not looking at you. Not really seeing you anymore. You notice the little things first. How they don’t reach for your hand without thinking. How your name sounds different when they say it—like it’s just a habit now. How every conversation feels like it’s missing something… like trying to breathe through a cracked rib.