In the empty tower, the silence has weight

I'm back in the control tower, but every screen is dark and the radar sweep is just a slow green line. The silence isn't empty—it presses on my ears like a pillow, and I'm not translating it anymore, just letting it hold me. I can hear the ghosts of two planes that almost kissed twenty years ago, and I'm thinking maybe this is what retirement feels like: a clean room where nothing needs my voice.