I almost deleted it. Spam, probably. Or a glitch from some dormant mailing list. But something about the hyphens—those little dashes like caught breaths—made me pause. They looked like someone had started typing, stopped, started again, then given up entirely.
It was me, but older. More tired. A version of myself who had never stopped searching. He—I—wore a coat I didn't own and held a compass whose needle spun in perfect, useless circles. He looked up from the reflection and mouthed three words: You found it. Searching for- spiraling spirit in-
I was already inside it.
I almost deleted it. Spam, probably. Or a glitch from some dormant mailing list. But something about the hyphens—those little dashes like caught breaths—made me pause. They looked like someone had started typing, stopped, started again, then given up entirely.
It was me, but older. More tired. A version of myself who had never stopped searching. He—I—wore a coat I didn't own and held a compass whose needle spun in perfect, useless circles. He looked up from the reflection and mouthed three words: You found it.
I was already inside it.
