Breadcrumbing

They toss you tiny sparks of attention, just enough to keep your hope flickering but never enough to warm you.

They toss you glittering crumbs—one midnight “u up?” or a heart on an old photo—just enough sparkle to keep you chasing the trail through the dark forest of maybe. You follow, starving for the whole loaf of them, but the path circles back to your own lonely footprints. Hansel and Gretel at least had a witch at the end; you just have your own hope turning stale.