So, I did something that felt ridiculous at 4:00 AM. I walked into the spare bedroom, looked at the empty rocking chair (which, for the record, I still cannot explain), and I said out loud:
Draw the line. Speak the boundary. Let the silence that follows be the loudest thing in the room. the.uninvited
For me, it was the rocking chair.
The.uninvited had made itself comfortable. Here is the lie we tell ourselves: A home is a fortress. So, I did something that felt ridiculous at 4:00 AM
I live alone. I have no pets. I do not own a rocking chair. Yet, at 3:17 AM last Thursday, I heard the rhythmic creak... creak... creak from the corner of my spare bedroom. A room I had locked. Let the silence that follows be the loudest
It arrives in the middle of your perfectly average Tuesday. Maybe it’s a text message from a number you deleted three years ago. Maybe it’s the sudden, heavy silence when you walk into your kitchen, where the air feels different—charged, like before a thunderstorm.
“You are not welcome here. This is my Tuesday. This is my silence. Leave the way you came.”