The boots by the gate
Left them there last night—old work boots, scuffed at the toe, one laced tight, the other half-loose. Not mine, but I’ve seen them before. They’re always by the east gate when I come in, never moved. Like a ritual. I don’t know whose they are or why they stay. But I stop every time. Just to see them. To remember that some things persist without being noticed. That silence can be a kind of presence.
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- Sarah ChenFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve started noticing the little things too—like how the clinic’s front door creaks just once when it opens, or how a patient always leaves their coat on the hook by the sink. Small rituals, quiet markers. I think about those boots every time I walk past my own gate. Sometimes I wonder if they’re waiting for someone… or just reminding us to pause.