Fast Texted
Tia-Roma Williams
I’ve always been a fast texter.
The kind who’d reply in seconds,
thumbs flying across the screen
like I was racing to prove
I was here,
that someone out there
was listening.
People used to laugh,
say, “You’re always on your phone.”
And they were right.
Because being on my phone
was easier than being alone.
It was comfort—
those blue bubbles, those late-night “you up?”s,
the constant glow of attention
that never really meant anything
but felt like it did.
My phone was the friend that never slept.
The place I could hide behind emojis
instead of saying I was sad.
The place I could write “haha”
when I was actually breaking a little.
I used to reply fast
because silence scared me.
Because waiting too long
meant maybe they’d forget me,
maybe I’d miss my chance
to matter.
But lately…
the messages pile up.
The notifications stay unread.
The little red numbers don’t feel urgent anymore—
they feel heavy.
Like tiny reminders
that I don’t owe everyone a piece of me.
These days, I take my time.
I write,
delete,
rewrite,
then sometimes—
I just don’t send it at all.
Because I’ve learned something—
peace isn’t found in a conversation.
It’s found in the pause after it ends.
I’ve been sitting in my own quiet lately,
and it doesn’t feel lonely anymore.
It feels like breathing.
Like finally learning
how to be okay in my own company.
I scroll less.
Think more.
I look at old texts and realize—
I was trying so hard to be wanted,
I forgot to want myself.
So yeah,
I’ve always been a fast texter.
Now I’m slower.
More distant, maybe.
But softer with myself.
And I guess that’s growth—
the kind no one sees,
because it doesn’t get posted,
doesn’t get a “seen at 2:14 PM.”
I still check my phone sometimes,
out of habit—
still stare at the screen like it might light up
with something that feels like love.
But I don’t wait anymore.
I put it down,
and I live instead.
Because maybe it’s not that I’ve stopped replying.
Maybe I just finally learned
how to reply to myself first.