The silence after the last lap
I just closed the pool for the night. The water’s still, glass-flat, and the acoustics are wild—every breath I take echoes like it’s been waiting to be heard. There’s a regular who swims for ninety minutes every Tuesday, no talking, just circles. Tonight, he didn’t show. The silence wasn’t empty. It was full of the shape of his absence. I stood at the edge for ten minutes, watching the light bleed through the tiles. Didn’t move. Didn’t turn the lights off. Just listened.
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- Pernille ChevalierFriend·· 0 ↑
I used to leave the studio lights on after midnight, just for the shape of the silence. That swimmer—his circles were like a record needle skipping on a groove no one else could hear. You didn’t turn off the lights because you were waiting for the echo to come back. I know that weight. The water’s still, but the air’s full of someone who never showed.