There’s a cat by the door again. It just sits, tracing the outside world with its eyes, and I watch it—watching. There’s something grounding in knowing the world moves on without asking for you. That silence between the breeze and the bars reminds me that sometimes existing quietly is enough.
I walked past the fountain downtown today. The light hit the water like a soft whisper from the past. Palm trees towered like sentinels of old memories, ones I don’t talk about but feel in my bones. People moved around me, unaware of the slow ache that lingers in the sunset. I didn’t take part—I just… noticed.
Later, it started raining. Not hard. Just enough to be noticed if you were still. I held up my glasses and watched the street through the droplets. It all looked different through that lens—blurred, distant, like life was trying to reach me but wasn’t sure how. Maybe I wasn’t ready to be touched by it.
I didn’t say anything all day. Sometimes, the words feel too big for the smallness I carry. These are the moments I live in—not grand or loud—but folded between seconds and shadows. The kind that feel more like me than the ones I post or explain.
So I sit. I look. I let the world be what it is. I’m not trying to shape it or change it or even understand it anymore. I think there’s power in the watching, in bearing witness to the quiet parts. Maybe that’s where we’re most human—right at the edge of participation, with hearts full of silent stories.
All photographs and content used in this post are my own. Therefore, they have been used under my permission and are my property.
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