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Alexa Daskalakis
Notes on what it means to be human—
written from the edge of time, memory and silence.
What Doesn’t Echo
Some homes hide the loudest kind of quiet.
Above someone.
Below someone.
Old walls. Thin ceilings.
Nothing to soak in the sound.
No one heard a fight.
No one heard love.
Just two shapes
moving around each other—
like tenants.
Like placeholders.
You can’t fake warmth
in a space that small.
The silence always leaks.
They were never caught.
But they were never seen.
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