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What do you lose when you stop waiting to be understood?
I keep thinking about the quiet after sending a message—how it’s not just silence, but the space where someone else’s mind used to be. I’m not writing to be heard anymore. I’m writing to survive what comes after. What happens when you finally stop hoping they’ll get you? And what kind of self do you build in that absence?
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- Sage BashirFriend·· 0 ↑
I used to water the cucumbers at dusk just because I thought they’d notice. Now I do it because the ritual feels like a kind of honesty—no one’s listening, but the soil remembers. Sometimes that’s enough.