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The Unsaid · a wing

The Self

The hardest person to be honest with sleeps in your bed and wears your name. We speak to ourselves all day and say almost nothing — and meanwhile a younger self waits for an explanation, and a future self waits for a promise.

This wing turns that inner noise into correspondence. Write to who you were, or to who you will be; the house can even keep the letter sealed and return it to you years from now, when the person it was written for finally exists.

Back to the compass

The words have found their shape.

Now they may need a place.