Fade To Black

The ache of almost

There’s a particular kind of human ache that doesn’t announce itself loudly. It doesn’t come with tears or screams, no dramatic final goodbyes. It’s much quieter than that. Slow. Like a slow fade to black, one pixel at a time.

It starts with connection. Not the kind that’s convenient or casual, but the kind that grabs your heart and doesn’t let go. The kind that makes the world feel sharper, clearer, like someone’s turned up the contrast on your life. You hear their words and feel seen. You speak yours and feel heard. And for a moment, a flicker, really, you think, maybe this is something rare. Maybe this is what real presence feels like.

But then… the fade begins.

They don’t say less. Not really. They just start saying things that feel… faded. Thinner. Responses become polite instead of personal. Their conversation feels curated, not curious. You tell yourself you’re imagining it, but your gut knows. You’re no longer being met, you’re being acknowledged. There's a difference. And it cuts.

You want to call it out. You want to ask, “Did I imagine all of it?” But you don’t. Because part of you already knows the answer. You didn’t imagine it, but they needed it to stay contained, framed, manageable. They weren’t ready for the weight of being truly seen. And maybe they never will be. So it slowly but inevitably turns into the weight of almost.

You sit with the slow fade, and it guts you in ways big heartbreaks never could. Because it turns into a big heartbreak, agonizingly slowly. This wasn’t a fire that burned out. It was a match that never got lit. A ghost of something that almost was.

Almost.

And that’s what kills you. Because you weren’t in love. Not exactly. But you loved them. Quietly. Fiercely. From a distance they never even realized mattered.

So now you carry that ache. Not because you want to. Not because you're noble or poetic. But because that’s what happens when connection doesn’t have a landing place.

It just echoes.

And that echo… it sounds a lot like grief.