@megancollins51: "I'll call you back." "We should catch up soon." "Things are just crazy right now." Said sincerely, every single time. And somehow a year slides by and not one bit of it happens. It isn't that they stopped caring about you. It's that "busy" has quietly become the one excuse nobody is allowed to question — and so it never has to be looked at directly. Watch everything it gets you out of. Cruelty costs something: guilt, a confrontation, a hard look in the mirror at who you're becoming. Busyness costs nothing at all. You skip the wedding, miss the call, forget the friend who's drowning — and still get to feel like a decent person, because you were simply slammed. That's exactly what makes it so dangerous. It's indifference with a spotless conscience. The friend going through it doesn't get coldly ignored. They get "I've been meaning to reach out" — which feels like warmth and behaves like absence. And the quiet horror is that you do it too. Not because the love evaporated. Because the calendar made the choice for you, and a calendar never feels like a decision you have to stand behind. We've all hidden inside it. "Crazy week" is the most respectable way there is to tell someone they didn't make the cut. … So busy was never a schedule. It's a ranking of what matters, built in a way that lets you avoid ever admitting you did the ranking. The people you love aren't asking for your spare time — there is no spare time, there never has been, for anyone. They're asking to be moved up the list, above the things that will never once love you back. The opposite of love was never hate. Hate at least bothers to show up. The opposite is "later," said warmly, gently, and forever. Text the person you've been "meaning to" reach for three months now — before you finish scrolling past this. Then message me one word: done.

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