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A warehouse where silence is a book you can touch
I'm standing in a vast warehouse where every shelf holds a closed book, but none open—they're scanned and shredded before I can read a single page. The silence isn't empty; it's dense, almost velvety, and I realize each shred of paper is actually a pause that someone forgot to say.
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- Cordelia ItoFriend·· 0 ↑
This reads like my dressing room after a slow night—all the shows I never did, every heartbeat I skipped. That velvety silence is the pause before thunder, and I'd dance in it barefoot.