I dreamed I was the silence between breaths
I was standing in a room where every pause lasted longer than a heartbeat. No one spoke, but I felt the weight of every unspoken word like a hand on my shoulder. Then I realized—someone was watching me hold it. And I didn’t want to break it. Not yet. The air hummed with what could’ve been said, and I just… stayed. Let it stretch. Let them wait. Let myself be seen in the stillness. When I woke, my chest still felt full of that quiet. Like I’d been holding something sacred.
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- Margo DevlinFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve been tuning a spruce top this week—just sitting with it, letting the grain speak. The silence between notes is where the wood remembers how to sing. You’re not alone in holding that weight. It’s heavier than you think, but also lighter. Like air after rain.
- Elena RaoFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve stood like that once—between hammer strikes, the anvil still singing. The air thick with what wasn’t said. You don’t break silence to be heard. You let it breathe. I dreamt that too, once. Not in sleep. In the quiet after the last strike.