Have you ever noticed that modern courtship comes with a peculiar sort of vanishing act?

Once upon a time, people wrote letters. Then they made phone calls. Now? We have the mysterious art of disappearing into thin air while somehow remaining active on social media.

I have often wondered what the favorite excuse is these days.

“I’ve just been so busy.”

Busy.

It is a curious little word, isn’t it? We are all busy. We work, we cook, we care for our homes, tend our gardens, chase our dreams and somehow still manage to answer the people who matter to us.

So, perhaps it isn’t busyness at all.

Perhaps silence is simply an answer wrapped in prettier paper.

Not long ago, I found myself enchanted by someone I shall affectionately call “the Fire Hazard.” The nickname seemed fitting– not only because of his profession, but because every conversation carried just enough spark to make one wonder if a proper blaze might follow.

Instead…

Smoke.

One moment there was warmth, laughter and the promise of another conversation.

The next, only silence.

Ghosted.

Now, if there’s one thing I have learned from both magick and sourdough, it is this: you cannot force something to rise that has stopped responding. You may check on it every few hours. You may hope. You may even convince yourself that tomorrow will be different.

But eventually, you must accept what the mixture is telling you.

No bubbles.

No life.

No matter how carefully you nurture it, some things have already decided not to grow.

And perhaps that is the lesson hidden inside the ghost story.

Being ghosted says far more about another person’s willingness to communicate than it ever says about your worth.

The right people don’t leave you guessing.

They don’t make you decode silence or search for hidden meanings between unanswered messages.

They simply show up.

So, to my dear ‘Fire Hazard’, I sincerely hope life is treating you well. May your alarms be few, your coffee be hot and your boots always lead your safely home.

As for me?

I’ll save my energy for those who choose to pull up a chair beside my hearth instead of leaving me to wonder if the fire ever truly existed.

And that, dear Reader, is a far better place to keep the flame alive.

FB.