Low-Key Souls
Most people exhaust me.
They walk into a room like an unpinned grenade, desperate to prove they exist. Every silence is an emergency. Every thought has to be published, argued, or turned into a badge.
Then, once in a blue moon, you run into someone who just⦠sits there.
Shoulders down. Not scouting the room to see whoβs looking. Not rehearsing what theyβre going to say next. You can sit beside them on a tailgate for three hours, say four words about the weather or a bird in a tree, and leave feeling like you actually slept for the first time all week.
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Willie Nelson has had that look in his eyes for eighty years. Matthew McConaughey made a career out of it. Itβs not a cowboy pose or a branding trick. Itβs the dead-calm look of a human being who isnβt running from anything inside their own skull.
They find the poetry in an ordinary, unremarkable Tuesday because they arenβt busy auditioning for an audience that doesnβt care anyway.
If you have one person like that in your lifeβββsomeone who makes the room quieter just by walking into itβββhang onto them.
The rest of the world is screaming itself to death. Give me the ones who know how to shut up and just be.
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