Cycle I · “The Hidden Voice” · 02

Somewhere, a girl who’s been doomscrolling personals for two hours is curled up in bed, phone half on her pillow. Her inbox is full of variations on the same message: feathers, poses, bravado, promises. It all blurs together into one long parade of pick me energy, and underneath her eye-roll there’s a familiar, heavy thought: Everyone wants my attention. Almost no one knows what to do with me once they have it.

She reads this post once, smirks at the peacock line, and almost keeps scrolling. But something in that last sentence — “I would seek Experience and/or Commitment to the lifestyle above all” — makes her stop and scroll back up.

She taps into her own profile and sees what she’s accidentally been advertising: youth, aesthetics, vibe… but nothing about the kind of steadiness or depth she secretly craves. No mention of wanting someone who actually knows what they’re doing, or plans to be here longer than a weekend.

She doesn’t rewrite anything tonight. She just puts the phone face down and stares at the ceiling, realizing for the first time that she’s been treating herself like a prize to be won, not a person who chooses. The next time she logs in, she still wants to be wanted—of course she does—but a small, stubborn question has lodged itself under her ribs:

“If I actually took my own standards seriously…
who would I stop answering?”

She doesn’t have the full list yet. But “I’m lucky if anyone decent wants me” has quietly shifted into “some people aren’t qualified, no matter how pretty their feathers.”

Cycle I · “The Hidden Voice” · 02

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