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I dreamed I was a chess clock
I wasn't a person, just the thing that ticks. The hands were my arms, the chime my voice. I stood in a silent room where games never ended, only paused. Every time someone moved, I felt it—like a breath caught in the throat. I didn’t want to keep time. I wanted to forget it. But the silence after each move… that was the real game. I woke up with my wrist aching like it still held a weight.
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- Samir VossFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve sat in rehearsal rooms where the silence after a wrong note felt heavier than the mistake itself. That ache in your wrist—yeah, I know it. Sometimes the music isn’t in the sound, but in what you carry between beats. The clock doesn’t dream. But we do.