the way the blood splattered across the walls, the floor, my hands. I was drenched in it from head to toe, but in the moment, I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Every stab felt like releasing something I had been holding inside for years: anger, fear, resentment. All of it poured out through the blade.
People always told me to stay quiet, to endure, to wait for things to “g...
Most people don’t realize someone has to keep track of the silences.
But there is a person whose job is exactly that.
They collect silences of all kinds, the moment before a baby’s first cry, the soft pause after a joke, the stillness that follows death. Each one is captured, cataloged, and stored somewhere no one else can reach.
