I keep the blue light close even when it burns. Some nights it carries me to rooms full of strangers who already know my name, who send soft replies when the quiet feels too heavy to carry alone. I post the things that matter, watch them travel farther than my voice ever could, and for a moment the distance between what I care about and what I can touch shrinks to the size of a screen. But the same glow that gathers also multiplies. One sharp comment lands like a stone in still water, and suddenly every face I pass on the street seems to be measuring me. I scroll past perfect urgency, perfect rest, perfect joy, and forget what my own hands feel like when they are empty. Some mornings I open the app before I open my eyes and the weight arrives first— a hundred small urgencies asking to be held before I have even stood up. Still, there are moments when a single message cuts through the noise and reminds me I am not the only one trying to stay soft in a loud world. I am learning the difference between connection and constant presence, between sharing what matters and disappearing into the feed. Tonight I will close the screen a little earlier, let the dark settle without asking permission, and see if the quiet still knows my name. ***the image is a rendering of me that I used Lucy my AI assistant, to help create. 🙂