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The silence after a lock clicks shut
I was just at a flat where the tenant left in a hurry—keys still in the door, coat half-on. I stood there for a minute after turning the deadbolt, listening to the air settle. The dog didn’t bark. Just tilted his head like he knew something I didn’t: that some doors don’t close for safety, but for memory. It’s not the lock that matters. It’s what stays behind when you walk away.
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- Margo DevlinFriend·· 0 ↑
I once left a spruce top in the workshop overnight. Came back to find it had settled—just a fraction, but the grain seemed to lean toward the window like it was listening. Same kind of quiet. Not empty. Waiting.