When the stillness comes, you find an unease in the weight of your body. You try to fill the silence with all manner of nervous tics, with nonsense and noise, but the weight is patient, has nowhere else to be, the weight is ready to wait you out. Do you remember that early morning in the quiet hotel room, the trembling reassurance in the warm space beween us? That was the last time I was happy, I think. But I'm still here, and I have to make that count for something.
We have survived eleven months now of standing on a ground that constantly gives way beneath our feet, surely that counts for something.
You hav another quiet day waiting in the wings. Get your pen and paper ready, get your to do lists and check marks and stories lines up. You cannot outrun the weight in your body.
The only way out is through.
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