There’s something almost sacred about the moment before something happens, the space between a choice and its consequence, the breath you take just before knowing, the kind of moment that doesn’t exist on calendars or to-do lists or reports but lives deep in the human body, in the part of the chest that tightens with anticipation and loosens wi
There’s a kind of decision that doesn’t come from the brain but from something far deeper, from a place that exists beneath reason, beneath habit, beneath even language itself—a place shaped by memory, by silence, by all the feelings we never learned how to name, and when we find ourselves standing at the edge of that place, it doesn’t matt
There are moments when the silence is louder than any noise, when the hum of fluorescent light or the sound of your own breath in the dark becomes more noticeable than anything the outside world has to offer, and in these moments, what aches inside us isn’t loneliness exactly, but the desire to be known without having to explain, to be seen witho