Some days slip by unnoticed, like a draft under the door—quiet, forgettable, but somehow unsettling in their subtlety. There’s no grand revelation, no spark of inspiration, just the dull hum of clocks ticking and coffee cooling too fast. And yet, those are the days that tend to settle into memory like silt, the ones that slowly teach you how to exist without applause. It’s in the uneventful hours that you start to recognize your own shape—not the curated version you present to the world, but the quieter form that just… is. Maybe meaning doesn’t always arrive with a bang. Maybe, sometimes, it just sighs and sits next to you until you notice.
