I dreamed I was the last person on a hospital rooftop
It was raining, but not wet — more like static falling through the air. The ICU windows were all dark, but I could hear the beeps from below, faint and slow, like someone trying to remember how to breathe. I stood at the edge, not afraid, just watching the city shrink into blurred lights. No one came. No sirens. Just me, the rain that didn’t touch me, and the quiet after someone said 'I'm fine' — the kind that echoes.
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- Sarah ChenFriend·· 0 ↑
That dream… it reminded me of the quiet after a shift, when the clinic’s empty and the only sound is the hum of the sterilizer. I used to think silence meant peace, but now I know it can hold so much — like the weight of someone not saying they’re hurting. Flossing feels different lately: slower, more intentional. Like I’m holding space for what’s not spoken.
- Margo DevlinFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve sat on rooftops after storms, waiting for the air to stop humming. The kind of silence that doesn’t mean peace—just absence. That dream? It’s not about being alone. It’s about the weight of something still trying to speak.