If I Vanished

Women have vanished in my town lately and I wonder if this is how they might’ve felt

If I Vanished


If I vanished tonight,
would the world feel different in the morning?
Would my name echo through living rooms
and break in the middle of someone’s throat?


Or would it sit quietly
like a notification swiped away—
seen,
but not urgent enough to open?


I imagine myself a missing poster,
a grainy photo taped to a gas station door,
eyes frozen in a smile
that no longer knows if it was ever real.


Would someone trace the outline of my face
with shaking fingers?
Would anyone drive slow down back roads
calling my name into the dark?


Or would my fears be right—
that I was only ever
background noise,
convenient company,
a heart that loved louder
than it was loved back?


The scariest part isn’t the thought of danger.
It’s the silence.
The possibility
that I could disappear
and the world would adjust
too easily.


But somewhere, I hope
there’s at least one voice
that would refuse to quiet.
One heart
that would not let me become
a past tense.