the quiet that stayed

The air used to be crowded, weighted with words I threw like anchors, hoping one would finally catch, finally hold me in place. I was a storm of maybe and listen, scared that if the humming stopped, I would simply disappear. ​But the girl who couldn't stand the silence packed her bags in the middle of the night. She took the nervous laughter, the need to explain the "why," and the frantic beat of a heart that thought volume was the same as value. ​I am not her anymore. ​I have traded the echoes for an exhale. Now, my "yes" is a solid thing, and my "no" needs no footnotes. The room is still, and for the first time, I am not trying to fix it. I am finally loud enough in the spaces where I say nothing at all.