There is an exhaustion that cannot be explained by I do not fancy anyone anymore. It is the muscle of choosing photos, answering with charm, holding up a clever conversation, wanting more or less on schedule. At some point the body notices that desire turned into content.
A stretch of contact without an audience, with no one posting it and no need for you to be interesting, does not replace love and does not try to. What it does is hand you back a simpler question: do I want to be touched, or do I want to be seen?