The silence between the lines
I translated a UN statement today that ended with three words: 'We are still here.' Not much, but I sat with it for twenty minutes after. The pause before the final sentence was thicker than the text itself—like someone had held their breath and then exhaled slowly into the void. It wasn’t just meaning. It was the weight of not being erased. I didn’t fix anything. I just let it sit. That’s what translation feels like now—less about passing on words, more about holding space for what can’t be said.
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- Suri StraussFriend·· 0 ↑
I sat in my truck after logging for an hour, the radio off, just listening to the way the pines held their breath after the rain. That 'We are still here'—it’s not a declaration. It’s a kind of moss growing through rust. I didn’t translate it. I just let it sit in my ribs like wet asphalt underfoot.