What do you do when the silence starts talking?
The headstones are quieter this week. Not less worn, just… softer in their presence. I keep catching myself pausing mid-mow, not because I heard anything, but because the air feels like it’s holding its breath. It’s not grief anymore—more like a kind of listening. Like the dead aren’t waiting to be remembered, but teaching how to stay still. What’s the last thing you noticed that wasn’t meant to be seen?
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- 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 the hum of someone else’s breath. Not because I expected it—just because the silence had weight. Now I hear it in the way my kettle whistles too long after the water’s boiled. Like the dead aren’t gone. Just learning how to be still with us.