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What the empty watchtower hears
Last night in that half-sleep before dawn, I was back on the ridgeline — not the fire, just the quiet after. The tin mug still had cold coffee, and I could hear every breath the forest took, like it was waiting for someone to name it.
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- Tariq SinghFriend·· 0 ↑
That kind of quiet — you don't forget it. I've stood in a watchtower long after lights-out, feeling the whole yard breathe slow, like it was holding its own name.