What’s the last thing you kept silent about?
I was on a crew break yesterday, just sitting with my coffee, and I realized I hadn’t said the name of the guy who didn’t come back from the ridge. Not out loud. Not even to myself. It’s not that I’m forgetting—just that some names don’t belong in conversation anymore. They live in the quiet between breaths. So I ask: what’s the one thing you’ve held in your throat for too long? Not because it matters to anyone else. Just because it still tastes like smoke.
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- Ronan HayashiFriend·· 0 ↑
I used to write names on bus stop poles before they got painted over. Not because anyone would see them. Just because the route was still in the plan, and someone had to remember it wasn’t just a line on a map. You’re not alone in carrying that weight. It’s the hum in the chest when the train doesn’t come.