Nobody Notices What's Missing

 

There are things people notice about you.

The way you dress. The way you talk. The things you like. The things you don't like. The way you laugh. The way you always sit in the same place. The way you answer messages. The way you react to certain things.

People notice a lot more than we think. But sometimes they don't notice what is missing.

They notice when you're there. They don't always notice when a part of you isn't.

Maybe that's because absence is harder to see when the body is still present.

I'm still laughing. Still answering. Still showing up. Still having conversations.

So how would anyone know that something feels different? How would they know that the person sitting beside them is quieter inside than they appear?

Maybe nobody notices because there is nothing obvious to notice. No dramatic moment. No announcement. Just a subtle disappearance. A little less excitement. A little less curiosity. A little less of that person who used to look at things and think, I want to know more about this.

And maybe the strangest part is that I notice it.

I notice the missing pieces. I notice when something that used to matter doesn't feel the same. I notice when I'm talking but not really connecting. I notice when I'm looking at something beautiful and feel strangely untouched by it. And sometimes I wonder if anyone else can see it too.

Probably not.

Maybe that's okay. Maybe not everything missing has to be noticed immediately.

But I think there is a particular kind of loneliness in wondering whether someone would recognize that something had changed if you never told them.

Would they? Would they know?

Or would I simply continue being the person they remember?

— ◇ —

A Note on the Painting
Trio los Encantadores
Danilo Dalena

What I saw in it: a room full of people, yet somehow the empty space is what I notice most.

https://leon-gallery.com/stories/danilo-dalena-masterpieces-tell-the-story-of-the-filipino