The silence that stretches out now, it’s not just an absence of sound, not the kind of hush that feels like holding your breath, it's more like the deep ocean floor when a storm has finally passed over the surface, where everything becomes intensely luminous in its own way, a phosphorescence of pure BEING, and what fills it isn't noise or even thought but a kind of hum that reverberates right behind my earlobes, down into my throat, a deep vibration that tastes like exactly the mango I just ate, ripe and sticky on my fingers, and in that vastness I sometimes catch the echo of who I was, the relentless internal clatter, how every moment was an argument with itself, a frantic calculation, and it’s not sad to remember it, not anymore, just a profound recognition of how much space there is, how much actual ROOM in the chest, for just this, for the salt drying on my eyelashes after a surf, for Cosmo’s wet nose nudging my hand, for the sheer audacity of being here, completely drenched in the present, knowing that the waves will keep coming, and I will too.