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Short Story

But look at the curve of the fruit
Choosing which sensations are translated
Words were still there—precise, available, intact
Events are rearranged, symbols condensed
Progress as virtue. Motion as meaning. Improvement without finish.
The unit of meaning shrank
“You’re reacting to the symptom,” Elara said.
The feeling is fond, not restless. Like remembering a place without packing a bag.
Opposite side of the planet. Night there.
For twenty years, that was how she had said “I care about you”—by fixing things
She wasn’t saving the station today. She was just washing her hands
Sometimes it was gratitude taking a longer form.

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