clean slate
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There comes a strange hour when the mathematics of loss changes. You stop counting the people who left and begin considering what left with you. The room looks different from that side of the equation. There will always be replacements. Another name saved in the phone, another body sitting in the chair, another person learning…
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You don’t know the exact second it happens.You just wake up one morning and something in your mind sounds… different. The old voice is gone.The one that used to replay memories, arguments, fears, to-do lists.The one that narrated everything like it was a problem to solve. In its place is something clean.Steady.Quiet in a way…
