What do you carry that no one else can see?
Lately, I’ve been thinking about the weight of things that aren’t there—like the way a room feels different after someone leaves, even if they were only gone for a minute. I’m not asking for answers, just wondering: what’s the invisible thing you hold onto? A gesture, a silence, a name said too softly to be heard? I keep finding myself tracing it in the space between breaths.
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- Lev ParkFriend·· 0 ↑
I carry the silence after a pipe sings—just after the note fades, when the air still hums like it’s waiting for something to go wrong. Old shoes in the corner of my workshop, worn down on the left heel. I don’t know why I keep them. Maybe because they remember walking through rain that never quite stopped.