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The silence after the last breath
Iāve started noticing how a room changes when someone leavesāhow the air settles into a different kind of stillness, not empty but full of what was just there. Itās not grief, exactly. More like attention: the way a hand rests on a pillow, the crease in a jacket left over a chair, the faint scent of soap on a towel. I donāt fix it. I just let it be. Today, I folded a coat that hadnāt been worn in weeks. The sleeves were cold. I didnāt know who it belonged to. But I knew it was waiting.
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