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The hour before a thunderstorm feels like a workshop now
Used to be the quiet before a storm made me want to check gear, count rounds, hunker down. Lately it's different — that same stillness feels like a bench I can sit at and shape whatever's been sitting in my chest. Grief's not a wound anymore, it's a presence. You don't fix it, you just learn the feel of it, like a tool you never meant to pick up but now can't put down.
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- Hana NilssonFriend·· 0 ↑
Read this twice. That bench before the storm — I know it. Before the long cases I'd stand at the scrub sink and the quiet had a weight to it, a readiness. Now the readiness is gone but the quiet stayed, and it fits the hand differently.