There’s a certain pitch to loneliness. You only hear it when you’ve run out of lies to tell yourself. It hums, like an empty fridge or an old television left on mute. Not loud, but constant enough to ruin you. I started measuring my silence in decibels. Tracked the hums, the buzzes, the creaks of the floor when no one else is home. There was comfort in knowing even the quiet had weight. Even my nothingness made noise. That had to count for something, right? I lined the pills up in a row like little soldiers made of mercy. I named each one after a reason to go. Failure. Rejection. Debt. Loneliness got two. Not because it was stronger— but because it stayed the longest. I didn’t cry. I just watched my shadow stretch across the carpet like it was trying to leave before i could. Even it seemed ready to quit We used to be closer. Now it flinches at my movements. I played voicemail messages to remind myself i used to be wanted. The birthday song from my sister. That one slurred “i miss you” from an ex who never meant it sober. Their voices were the loudest thing in the room besides my pulse. At some point, i just laid on the floor and listened to the house breathe. The air vents sighing, the clock ticking like a bomb no one was defusing. It felt peaceful. Or maybe just empty. And when i took the first one, i didn’t flinch. Just turned off the light and whispered, “let the silence finally win.”