The Borrowed emotions of Ashly Miles “The Prologue”

Ashly Miles had thousands of thoughts every day. The strange thing was, almost none of them were her own. Every morning before her feet touched the floor, she reached for her phone. Before brushing her teeth, before speaking to another human being, before even deciding how she felt about the day, she scrolled. Memes. Quotes. Viral posts. Screenshots. Sarcastic jokes. Relationship advice from strangers. Motivational speeches from people she'd never met. By the time breakfast started, Ashly had already absorbed dozens of emotions that belonged to other people. If the first meme was about heartbreak, she felt heartbroken almost immediately. If the next one was about betrayal, she suddenly thought about everyone who had ever disappointed her. If she came across a post about success and ambition, she became inspired for a few hours. Then a cynical meme would appear and convince her life was pointless again. Her emotions changed with every swipe. Her personality shifted with every scroll. She wasn't steering her own mind anymore. The internet was driving. One of Ashly's greatest struggles was communication. Not because she couldn't speak. Because she refused to. Whenever she had something important to say to someone, she never actually said it. Instead, she posted memes. If she was angry with a friend, she'd share a meme about fake people. If she felt ignored by a guy she liked, she’d repost a quote about loyalty and effort. If she was jealous of someone's success, she'd post something about how money doesn't buy happiness. She convinced herself she was expressing her feelings. But she wasn't. She was hiding behind borrowed words. Ashly treated social media like a giant indirect messaging service. Every post was aimed at someone. Every meme was a secret letter. Every shared quote was a conversation she was too afraid to have. In her mind, the target would see it and instantly understand. "They'll know exactly how I feel." "They'll get the hint." "They'll figure it out." But nobody ever did. Because nobody can read a mind hidden behind a meme. One evening Ashly sat alone in her apartment scrolling through her timeline. She came across a post that said "People who constantly post indirect messages are often afraid of direct conversations." The statement irritated her to the core. She immediately felt attacked. Then she stopped. She didn't scroll away. She just stared. The post wasn't talking about her specifically. But it felt like it was. Because it was true. Ashly realized something uncomfortable. She couldn't remember the last time she had honestly told someone how he felt. Not a meme. Not a quote. Not a screenshot. Not a repost. Her own words. Her own voice. Her own emotions. Everything inside her had become outsourced. She borrowed her opinions from influencers. Borrowed her humor from memes. Borrowed her motivation from strangers. Borrowed her anger from viral posts. Borrowed her courage from motivational videos. She was living a secondhand emotional life. The next day something happened that changed her. A close friend called. "Are you upset with me?" he asked. Ashly immediately thought of three memes she could send. One about loyalty. One about fake friends. One about people changing. Her thumb hovered over the screen. Then she paused, she typed something different. Not a meme or a quote. Just the truth. "Honestly, I've been feeling ignored lately and I didn't know how to bring it up." A few moments later he replied. "Why didn't you just tell me?" Ashly sat there staring at the message. The answer was simple. Because she had forgotten how. For years she had spoken through other people's words until her own voice became weak from lack of use. Like a muscle that had never been exercised. Over time Ashly learned something important. Memes were never the problem. Memes could be funny. Insightful. Relatable. Even healing. The problem was using them as a substitute for authenticity. A meme can reflect a feeling. But it cannot replace a conversation. A quote can inspire a thought. But it cannot think for you. A post can express an emotion. But it cannot tell someone exactly what is in your heart. Eventually Ashly stopped hoping people would decode her timeline like a secret language. Instead, she started speaking. Directly. Honestly. Sometimes it was awkwardly and sometimes it was imperfectly. But genuinely the emotions she expressed belonged to her. Not the internet. Not a stranger. Not a meme. Her.