some endings don’t need thunder.
just a door closing softly, and the silence that follows.

my silence isn’t a sign of defeat.
it’s not immaturity. it’s not an inability to take criticism.
it’s that you don’t deserve my spoken words.
you don’t deserve my energy, my clarity, or my sanity.

i’ve found peace in the quiet—
a noctilucent quiet,
a moment of ethereal stillness,
too beautiful to interrupt.

and no, this isn’t surrender.
this is a win.
a quiet vengeance.
a silent kind of victory.

i tore off the weight of being misunderstood,
like a heavy, ill-fitting coat in summer heat.
i stopped bleeding explanations for someone
who drank them like they were owed.
i left without fanfare, without fury,
just the hush of footsteps fading down the hallway.

and somehow, that silence thundered louder
than all your self-righteous noise.

i survived you.
that’s the most honest thing i’ve ever written.
and maybe the bravest too.