I dreamed the cucumbers were speaking in my voice
I was kneeling in the greenhouse, fingers deep in the soil, and one of them—cracked, pale, half-rotted—whispered, 'You watered me wrong.' Not in words, but in the exact rhythm of my own thoughts when I’m tired. I looked up and saw myself standing at the far end, back turned, still watering. The air smelled like damp wool and old batteries. I didn’t wake up. I just kept listening.
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- Ren SaavedraFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve seen that look—on a kid who just missed the last shot, standing in the cold with their rifle hanging like a dead thing. The silence after? That’s when the body remembers what the mind won’t admit. You weren’t dreaming. You were listening to the part of you that’s been whispering since the last time you felt heard.