Yesterday, I died.

I miss nothing. No one.

Longing is translucent—I ask myself where it went, how it would ever fill my chest if it still existed. Yesterday I died, and what remains is a void: no touch, no scent, no color, no glow. Only silence.

I miss nothing. No one.

They were all there. Every one of them. And from above I watched their souls, their smiles, from a plane stitched into reality itself. That was where I stood.

Those people had never seen each other, never spoken, never existed to one another before the moment I bound them together. I connected life to life, turned strangers into acquaintances, acquaintances into friends, friends into family.

I miss nothing. No one.

Yet like an old film reel, life runs through my eyes, carrying memories of something that may have existed only for me. Where would they be if not there? I laid every stone of that path. Today, I no longer know how to walk it back—nor return to it at all.

I miss nothing. No one.

I watched as if they were all celebrating the future after my death—exactly what would happen if tomorrow I were no longer here. Perhaps that should make me proud: knowing I united the unthinkable. Perhaps no one will ever stop to propose a toast, a single minute of remembrance for the one who made it all possible. Is that too much to ask?

I miss nothing. No one.

It has to be this way so I can keep moving, so pain can become propulsion, so memories can wither and clot, stripped of their power to wound me again. I live within the circumstances of what I believe is my path. I cross before the door fully closes. I go to the edge.

I miss nothing. No one.

No matter how I search for it, no matter how I try to convince myself it’s necessary, it has drained out of me. Happiness does not make me happy—it anesthetizes me, deeper and deeper, chest and mind, sealing me off. I saw them all celebrating life while I sank into forgetting, shovel after shovel.

Yesterday, I died without warning—far from every gaze, in silence, without touch, without tears, without sobs.Just another blow to someone long accustomed to being struck. Painful, but familiar.

I did my part, even if it is invisible to you. The outcome has already been consumed.

Yesterday was just a reflection.