The Art of Leaving DMs on Read (With a Smile) 😉

It usually starts the same way.
A ping. A glow. A flash of curiosity lighting up in the corner of my phone like it has something important to say. It never does.

I let it sit.

I don’t open it right away. I keep brushing my hair. I finish sipping my coffee. I scroll through something else—something quieter, something that doesn’t ask for a reaction. Because I already know what it is. We both do.

The opening line is always predictable. Hey. What’s up. You looked amazing last night. Sometimes it’s a GIF. Sometimes it’s a “👀” with no context. Occasionally, it’s a long paragraph written in the emotional equivalent of wet concrete.

The thing is, I used to feel guilty about not answering.
As if someone sending me a message—any message—obligated me to pause my day, rearrange my attention, and type out a reply that would ultimately be used to decide if I was “chill” or “too much.”

But here’s what I’ve learned: silence isn’t rudeness.
It’s a boundary. And boundaries don’t require backstory.

I read the message. I think about what it wants.
Not what it says, but what it wants.

Attention? Validation?
A little spark of dopamine when the “seen” notification appears?

Some people send messages not to start conversations, but to test their access to you.
To check if the door is still cracked open.
To confirm that their name still carries weight in your world.
And when it doesn’t, that’s when the “You’ve changed” texts show up.
Yes. I have.
I got tired of entertaining echoes.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy connection.
I just don’t enjoy maintenance disguised as interest.

Let’s be clear—this isn’t about being cold.
This is about clarity.

I’m warm with people who meet me halfway.
But I’ve outgrown digital crumbs.
A half-effort compliment at midnight doesn’t move me.
A “u good?” three days after you ghosted doesn’t feel like care—it feels like surveillance.

And I don’t perform softness for people who only remember I exist when their timeline goes quiet.

Sometimes I read your message while lying in bed, wearing leggings and no makeup, hair a little chaotic from sleep. I look at my phone, I look in the mirror, and I ask myself the simplest question: Does this deserve a piece of my energy right now?

And if the answer is no, I don’t argue with it.
I don’t talk myself into being nice.
I don’t create fake busy excuses or send a non-committal “haha yeah.”

I leave it.
On read.

That little line—”Seen at 9:27 PM”—carries more honesty than most replies ever could.

It says:
I received it.
I considered it.
And I chose not to respond.

That’s a full sentence. A full action. A complete thought.

And if that feels like rejection to you, maybe that’s the point.
Not because I want to hurt you.
But because I’m not required to soften the truth to make it easier to swallow.

Some messages are fishing lines—thin, empty, tossed out without real intent.
Some are anchors—hoping I’ll grab on and stay tethered.
And some are just noise.
No direction, no purpose, no effort.

The smirk you imagine when I don’t respond?
It’s real.
But not for the reasons you think.

It’s not about power. It’s about peace.
The quiet thrill of choosing my own rhythm.
The soft satisfaction of not being pulled into yet another back-and-forth with someone who only wants access, not presence.

I don’t chase after maybes. I don’t entertain convenience.
I dress up when I feel like it. I speak when I mean it.
And when I’m quiet? That’s not an oversight. That’s intention.

So yes, I saw your message.
Yes, I could’ve replied.
But I didn’t.
Not because I’m playing games,
but because I’ve stopped playing at all.

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can say is absolutely nothing.

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xo,
Marli 💋