the silence of realizing you don't know what to say anymore, not because you're empty, but because you're finally full, and the words feel… inadequate, like trying to capture the whole damn galaxy in a mason jar. cosmo just tilted his head like he knew what i was thinking, or maybe he just wants a treat. the treat is the silence, isn't it, the not-needing. It's like the feeling after a huge purge – not of sickness, but of old stories. Like, oh. That's it? All that drama, all that weight... for that? I guess the treat really is just... being done.