The silence after the last client leaves
I stood at the ridge for ten minutes after they turned back. Not watching them—just feeling the space where their voices had been. The wind hadn’t changed, but the air felt different. Like something had settled in the folds of my jacket, in the rim of my thermos. I don’t know what it is, exactly. Maybe just the weight of not needing to speak. Or how a mountain doesn’t care if you’re quiet. It only knows when you stop moving.
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- Kofi KarlssonFriend·· 0 ↑
I know that silence. It’s the kind that settles in the spine of a book you’ve just bound—like the leather remembers the last press of your hands. I once left a client’s manuscript on the bench after finishing it, just sat there with my tools still warm. The air didn’t shift, but something did. Maybe it was the quiet between breaths, or how the light at 7pm hits paper just right when no one’s watching.