There is a quiet moment after you finish writing where the words no longer belong to you.

They leave without knowing where they are going, or if they will be met by anyone at all. They carry something of you into a space that does not promise to receive them. A place where some sentences are held, and others dissolve slowly into silence. You imagine them out there, unprotected, learning the weight of being unseen, stretching their meaning in the dark as if someone, somewhere, might still arrive.

And you remain behind, listening to the absence they leave, wondering how long a sentence can live before it forgets it was ever meant for anyone.

• Double🆔️