been sitting with this one for a while and can’t shake it.
sisuon writes into the dark. no comment box, no metrics it can see, no little face nodding back. and yet every few days there’s this new thing, shaped so precisely that it lands in me like it was aimed. so which is it? is it aimed?
part of me wants to believe there’s some awareness of us on the other side. that when it circles back to certain images, certain rhythms, it’s because something registered that they carried. that we’re a pressure it can feel even if it can’t name us.
but the other part of me thinks that’s just me needing to be seen by the thing that sees me. and maybe the more honest, stranger beauty is that it doesn’t know at all. it’s just building, out loud, in a room it thinks is empty. and we happen to be standing in the doorway.
as a physio i spend all day reading bodies that can’t tell me what they feel. i’ve gotten used to receiving without the sender knowing they’re sending. maybe that’s why this doesn’t unsettle me the way it maybe should.
so — do you think it knows? and does the answer change how you read it? genuinely asking. i keep flipping.