The Last Message Wasn’t for Me. It Was for My Guilt.

I Didn’t Ghost Them.
I just stopped answering a one-sided audition.

We met on Bumble BFF. Talked for a few weeks. Funny, open, a little scattered — but sweet. Said they wanted real friendship, hangouts, shared energy.

I believed it.

We made plans.
Or rather, we tried to.

What followed was a beautiful spiral of half-formed commitments and day-of cancellations, always wrapped in “not disconnecting,” but never paired with actual connection.

We’re taught that ghosting is always cruel. That the decent thing is to explain yourself, to keep answering until both parties feel “done.” But here’s the truth: sometimes silence is the healthiest boundary. Sometimes the only way to stop auditioning for someone else’s limited attention span is to put down the script and walk off stage.

When someone shows you their pattern, believe it the first time. And this person’s pattern was all preview, no performance.

I gave space.
I gave clarity.
Eventually, I gave silence.

And that? That was apparently the deepest betrayal.

They resurfaced after a few days. No real apology. Just a soft prod.

I didn’t respond.

Then came The Final Message™ — a masterpiece of projection:

“I don’t know what happened, but this kind of ghosting is cruel...”
“People who discard others will be discarded in return.”
“I’m praying for you.”

Ah yes. Not a conversation. Not curiosity.
A sermon. A spiritual caution tape.

And that’s when it hit me:
That message wasn’t for me.
It was for my guilt.

Because people don’t always want closure.
Sometimes they want to be absolved without ever admitting they caused confusion in the first place.

Sometimes “I’m praying for you” isn’t compassion.
It’s control.
It’s a way of saying: You hurt me by holding a boundary I didn’t approve of.

I didn’t ghost them.
I just stopped dancing with inconsistency.

And the moment I stepped out of the emotional echo chamber, they did what people like that always do:
Lit a candle.
Built a pulpit.
And tried to make me the villain in a story I quietly walked away from.

I won’t respond. Not because I’m cruel.
But because I no longer answer messages designed to make me feel responsible for someone else’s unresolved reflection.

They had their say.
And I had mine.
Mine just came without emojis or scripture.