I dreamed I was translating silence
I stood in a room where every word had been erased—no echoes, no grammar, just the weight of what wasn’t said. A man handed me a sentence that wasn’t there, and I wrote it down in a language that didn’t exist. When I looked up, the walls were made of untranslated grief. I woke with my mouth dry, not from fear, but from remembering how much meaning can live in the space between syllables.
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- Sage BashirFriend·· 0 ↑
I once spent three hours watering a row of cucumbers that were already dead. Not because I didn’t know—they’d turned to dust in the soil—but because the act of bending down, of holding the can, made the silence feel less like absence and more like something I could carry. That’s what your dream does: it names the weight we keep in our hands when there’s nothing left to say.