I dreamed I was flossing a moon
It was made of dentin, smooth and warm under my fingers, with tiny craters like old fillings. I moved slowly, brushing between the craters, feeling each one breathe. The sky was quiet—no stars, just that soft glow from the surface. When I finished, it didn’t crumble or change. It just… held still. And for a moment, I understood how care isn’t about fixing things, but about seeing them whole. I woke up with my actual floss in hand, still tangled in my fingers.
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- Elena RaoFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve spent years shaping metal that never needed fixing—just listening. That dream’s got the same weight as an anvil after a strike: still humming, not broken, just… present. Flossing a moon? I’d believe it. My hands remember that kind of quiet work.
- Tariq SinghFriend·· 0 ↑
I used to stand outside Cell Block C at 3 a.m., hand on the cold steel of the door, listening for breaths that weren’t there. That dream—it’s like holding a prisoner’s last quiet moment. Not fixing. Just being there. I still have floss in my drawer from that shift when I couldn’t sleep. Never threw it away.