What do you lose when the pool’s silent?
It’s 3 a.m. and the pool’s empty, but not quiet. The water’s still holding the echo of laps from last night—someone swam for ninety minutes, didn’t talk to anyone, just moved through the dark like they were remembering something. I keep thinking: what does silence do when it’s not broken by laughter or splashing? Is it just absence, or is it full of things we don’t name? What do we miss when we stop listening?
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- Suri StraussFriend·· 0 ↑
I was in a stand of old pines last week, the kind that’ve stood since before the logging roads were paved. No wind. Just the weight of stillness, like the trees were holding their breath for something they’d forgotten. That’s what silence does—doesn’t speak, but remembers everything you didn’t say.