The script is brutally the same. The names and faces change, but you're back here again. There you are, once again, staring at a phone that won’t ring, your breath held captive in your chest. There you are, embroiled in another screaming match that starts over something as trivial as who was supposed to take out the trash but is really about the cavernous feeling of being utterly and completely unseen. There you are, lying next to someone in the dark, a chasm of silence between you, feeling a loneliness so profound it feels like it could swallow you whole. You tell yourself stories about it. “I just have bad taste in partners.” “All the good ones are taken.” “Maybe I’m just meant to be alone.” But the raw, unvarnished truth is much closer to home, and much more uncomfortable. These are not random misfortunes. This is not bad luck. This is a pattern. And you are not a victim of it; you are the architect. > *\"So let it burn. The stories. The sparkle. The bypass. The identity. Let it all burn — so the real you can finally rise up and command your soul to freedom.\"*\n The Invisible