Seen

.

Everyone still spoke.
Just not out loud.

The city was full of people walking side by side, heads tilted down toward the small glowing rectangles in their hands. 

Messages passed between them constantly—flirtations, arguments, confessions, apologies.
Thumbs moving over glass. 
Notifications blooming like tiny fireworks in their pockets.

In cafés, couples sat across from each other while their phones vibrated softly against the tables. Typing bubbles pulsed like quiet heartbeats.

A man sat across from a woman he had been texting for six months.

“I love talking to you,” one message read.

“You’re beautiful,” he wrote.

She smiled at the screen.
Neither of them looked up.
Or said a single word.

Seen.

A small grey word beneath every message. 
Proof your words had reached someone. 
Proof someone had read them.

People slept easier after that.

They woke to the comfort of hundreds of tiny confirmations.

Seen.
Seen.
Seen.

It was years before anyone noticed something strange.

The word appeared even when no one was there.
Phones left on kitchen benches.
Messages sent into empty rooms.

Seen.

By then the silence had grown so normal
no one thought to ask
who was reading them.

© Samira Wyld 2026

Thank you for reading another post from Shadows And Midnight Screams where we delve into the world of shadows, desire, and untamed expression. My illustrated collection of poetry ‘Twenty Past Midnight’ is now available as a paperback and you can find out more about that here.

And until next time…
Stay seXy, Stay wYld, Be Free™