The Avalanche
Six hours of silence, then all of it at once.
You read it, put the phone down, and come back later
One thought per message, sent as fast as you think it
Punctuation, emoji, and volume do half the talking
Who you are
You go quiet — not ignoring anyone, just living — and then it all arrives at once. Nine messages, warm, out of order, answering something from this morning and starting three new things. The other person's phone has a small event.
What you're really doing is saving up. You were thinking about them the whole time, and the burst is the evidence. People who understand this find it delightful, because the volume is genuinely proportional to how much they were on your mind.
People who don't understand it spend the silence guessing. Six hours reads as a signal to almost everyone, and by the time your avalanche lands they've already run through what they might have said wrong. The warmth arrives after the worry.
Send one line into the gap. On my way somewhere, will properly reply later — it's ten seconds and it stops the silence from meaning something it doesn't.
You know it's you when…
- You have gone silent for hours and returned with nine messages
- Someone has assumed something was wrong during one of your gaps
- The size of your reply is proportional to how long you were thinking
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