The stranger spoke your name before you ever told them. You hadn’t met them before, but their words felt familiar, as though they had always known you. It was a name you hadn’t heard in years, a name that held a history you’d long forgotten. But hearing it now, spoken by a stranger’s lips, it felt like a door was opening, revealing parts of your life you had buried deep within.
Beneath the Weight of Stillness
The silence was not empty but dense, like fog made of forgotten thoughts. It clung to walls and windows, humming low like a memory too shy to speak. In that stillness, every sound became sacred — the creak of a chair, the breath between words. Nothing moved, yet everything pulsed quietly with meaning, waiting to be heard.
A Truth Wrapped in Silence
There was something unsettling about how the stranger knew. They spoke of places you’d been, people you’d met, but they did so without emotion, as though they were recounting a story that had already been told. The more you listened, the more you realized they weren’t just telling your story—they were living it, too. Their voice was your voice, and their eyes were your eyes. You couldn’t tell where you ended and they began.
The stranger within us is the one we must learn to understand.
The Stranger Who Became You
In the end, the stranger wasn’t a stranger at all. They were the version of you that had remained in the shadows, waiting to be noticed. Their words were your truth, and their presence was your past. The line between who you were and who you could become blurred, leaving you standing in front of yourself, wondering if you were ever really a stranger at all.
