Everyone fades eventually. Despite having “released” three books, I don't think I've ever said my piece in its entirety! I have so much to say, and it's an evolving life form, so there's always more words I can toss at it like throwing knives. For whatever reason, I've just equated "my piece" (my truth?) to an evolving life form that I constantly need to kill. I might take that bit and turn it into something for Instagram eventually. I'm constantly cannibalizing bits of my writing for website or Instagram posts (now I've extended the metaphor to not only needing to kill it, but eat it, as well).
Anyhow, though I may be invisible to most, I never disappear. Anyone who happens across my Instagram grid or website—or those I’ve met/spoke to online for the past twenty-five years—can still contact me. I've actually had the same email address since 1996. Even though gmail kind of took over the space, I kept my silly hotmail address to stay available and consistent.
I do wish some of those people from way back would check in, but they never do. As it turns out, invisibility is the product of the viewer, not the viewed.