Time moves strangely here. A message sent eight hours ago is still alive somehow. Still waiting for acknowledgment. Someone replies to it and the dead conversation rises again like Lazarus but without the miracle. Just the horror of continuation. You were there when it started. You watched it happen in real time. Then you left -- went to work, ate lunch, lived what remains of your life -- and when you returned the conversation had moved on without you but also had not moved at all. It is the same conversation. It will always be the same conversation. Forty-eight messages now. You dont open it. Not yet.