Dear Self,

Hi, self. How are you? Oh, you know. Just thriving in the existential limbo of unanswered questions. Really leaning into the whole “mystery of life” aesthetic. Loving it. Totally not spiraling into an over-analysis rabbit hole at 2 AM, trying to decode someone’s sudden disappearance like a conspiracy theorist with a bulletin board and red string. Nope, not me. But seriously, self, how do you feel about being ghosted by life, by people, by the grand, silent void that refuses to hand over any satisfying explanations? Frustrated? Obviously. A little bit betrayed? You bet. Low-key impressed by their sheer commitment to the vanishing act? Unfortunately, yes.

I mean, think about it. It takes a certain level of dedication to avoid accountability this thoroughly. To disappear so seamlessly, leaving no trace except for a lingering “what the hell just happened?” in someone else’s brain. It’s like they took a masterclass in “How to Evade Basic Human Decency” and graduated top of their class.

And yet, here I am, still waiting for an answer that isn’t coming. Like a fool refreshing a dead text thread, hoping for divine intervention. But you know what? I think it’s time to accept the reality: some people just lack the emotional depth to provide closure, and some situations will forever remain as unresolved as the final season of a canceled TV show.

Because it turns out that some questions are just destined to float around in the abyss of the unknown, never to be answered. Cool, cool. Love that for me. I mean, who doesn’t enjoy spending countless hours mentally drafting a heartfelt “Why did you do this?” monologue, only to realize the recipient has mentally moved to another dimension?

I used to think patience was a virtue. Turns out, it’s just a slow-burn form of self-torture. Because let’s be honest, if someone wanted to explain themselves, they would. If the universe wanted to give me closure, it wouldn’t be handing me vague signs like a cryptic fortune cookie. But no, here I am, starring in an existential mystery thriller where the plot twist is… nothing happens.

So, dear self, let’s be real. Do you actually need the answer, or have you just convinced yourself that closure is something external? Because what if the real power move is deciding that the silence is the answer? That someone’s refusal to explain speaks louder than any half-baked excuse ever could?Maybe it’s time to stop waiting for a grand revelation and start writing our own damn ending. Because if we’re going to be ghosted, we might as well haunt them right back by living our best, most unbothered life.

So, to all the unresolved situations, the people who left mid-conversation (both literally and metaphorically), and the mysteries that will never be solved: congratulations, you win. I release you. I am no longer a contestant on this game show.

And you know what? I’m going to assume the best possible answer for myself. Because if I have to live without closure, I might as well be the one writing the narrative.

Sincerely,
Me and Now Accepting That Some Things Just Don’t Deserve an Explanation