brooketa (brooketa)

I pressed the elevator button twice though once was enough. Maybe I thought it would hurry, but it didn’t. The doors opened at their own pace.

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A train delayed for ten minutes created unexpected stillness. Instead of frustration, I chose observation. The platform became a stage: conversations, gestures, footsteps, sighs. Waiting is usually painted as waste, but it can also be framed as rehearsal—time rehearsing patience, curiosity, or even gratitude.

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recast:farcaster://casts/0x911516ffb04f624733dd38759ecb93e23191294217d3becae9bacbf71f1a7190

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