In different cities, miles apart, two friends, Sarah and David, shared an unspoken connection that transcended distance. Their story was one of silent understanding, where words were often unnecessary.
Their friendship had blossomed during their college years, a time of late-night conversations, shared laughter, and endless adventures. However, life had taken them in separate directions. Sarah pursued her passion for art in New York City, while David found his calling as a software engineer in San Francisco.
Despite the physical separation, they stayed connected through occasional calls, texts, and the sporadic visits when their schedules aligned. But it was in the unspoken moments, the subtle gestures, and the shared memories that their true bond thrived.
On quiet nights, as Sarah sat on her Brooklyn balcony, gazing at the city lights, she'd feel a sudden urge to call David. And miraculously, her phone would ring, displaying his name. No words were needed; they'd sit in comfortable silence, as if they could sense each other's thoughts through the phone lines.
During one of Sarah's art exhibitions, David surprised her by appearing at the gallery unannounced. He had secretly flown in, knowing how much her big night meant to her. His presence spoke volumes, and Sarah's eyes welled with tears of gratitude as they embraced.
Over the years, they navigated life's ups and downs together. When Sarah faced a career setback, David sent her a package with a sketchbook and a note that read, "New beginnings." Sarah understood that he believed in her talent and her ability to bounce back.
Conversely, when David went through a tough breakup, Sarah mailed him a box filled with his favorite snacks and a handwritten letter that said, "You're stronger than you think." Without needing to discuss his pain, she had offered her silent support.
Their unspoken connection was most evident in their shared traditions. Every Christmas, they exchanged gifts that held sentimental value rather than material worth. Sarah once received a small, vintage key with a note that read, "You hold the key to my heart, always." David cherished the old leather-bound journal she had gifted him, a symbol of their shared memories.
Despite their geographic separation, they continued to travel together in spirit. When Sarah visited a new art museum in New York, she'd send David pictures and descriptions of the exhibits, providing him with a virtual tour. In return, he'd share snapshots of the breathtaking landscapes he encountered on hikes in California.
As years passed, their unspoken understanding grew deeper. When Sarah mentioned a particularly challenging project at work, David sent her a motivational quote every morning. It was his way of saying, "You've got this."
And when David mentioned feeling overwhelmed by the fast-paced tech world, Sarah would send him pictures of tranquil sunsets over the city skyline, offering a silent reminder to pause and appreciate life's beauty.
Their friends often marveled at their connection, how they seemed to communicate without words, and how they supported each other from afar. Sarah and David never felt the need to put their friendship into words; they understood the value of their silent understanding.
One day, while on a video call, they found themselves reminiscing about their college days. Sarah smiled at David and said, "You know, even though we're in different cities, it feels like you've never left."
David nodded, his eyes reflecting the same sentiment. "I couldn't agree more. Our unspoken connection keeps us close, no matter the miles between us."
And as they continued to talk and share stories, their unspoken connection remained, a testament to the enduring power of friendship that transcended both time and distance.
About the Creator
Madon Na
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The Good Fortune
I am just a poor little woman from Bach, Mississippi. What do I know about anything? My father was poor and my mother was poor. All my siblings started from poverty. What do I know about wealth? I never thought in my wildest dreams of anything. Because too much is given much is required says the Good Book. I never thought in my life. It started while working at the restaurant. I worked at my uncle's restaurant since I was 14. I never asked for no raise. I never asked for anything. I was just happy to cook and work. Because that's what my parents taught me. You worked hard you receive. You worked hard you get. You worked and worked and a blessing. The only name I went by was Rebekka. All my friends called me Rebekka and all my family called me Rebekka. I was Rebekka of Bach, Mississippi. And my family lived here most of their lives ever since slavery ended. We lived in these shacks and never looked back. We were just happy to be freed and without bondage. You oppressed people so much that they just want to be freed., They just want to be by themselves. All by themselves and don't care about money or fame. Although I was famous in church for my Southern gumbo. The Pastor said Rebekka cooked us some of the most excellent gumbo that God gave you. I would be like all Pastor don't. My grandma and mother taught me and my uncle did give me the job. And after being shy of relationships and being married. This man came to my uncle restaurant. He must of been an out of townee or something. He had on this fancy suit and this suitcase. And he would order just a sandwich and chips and a light drink each time. My uncle thought he is from the IRS or some federal agencies. I thought nay he must be up to something. So he told me to keep watch and have good conversations. I shouted Hey you. And he politely looked at me. What;'s your name? My name is Rebekka everybody call me Rebekka. He politely said Mr. Peterson. I said let me buy you a drink on the house. You will love the Caribbean, it's sweet and tangy and full of flavor. And he said Thanks. So I made him the house drink. he just said thanks. I said where are you from? He said pulling his glasses off I am from an agency. i said what the government or something? He said No. And he had a phone call that made him abruptly leave. And I went in the back after checking everyone on a full house. I told my uncle. And he said he still thinks he is from the IRS. He eventually came back and asked what church I go to? I said Calvary Baptist Church down the street. My family always go to church most of the week and so does everybody else. He said Good when is service? I said well they usually do service every Sunday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. He said I will be there and you will find out why I am here. So I politely wave to him and told uncle. And uncle sweated and said be there and tell everyone that I will give them a discount if they find out why he is here. I said Whoa I am not making that gumbo. Uncle if I find out you better hire a new staff because I am tired of gumbo. Days later on Saturday, we were having church and praising the Lord and I was getting my praise on. Just because God is that good and I liked to thank him. And just before prayer, Mr. Peterson stepped in and he said he has to testify. I am from one of the agencies up North. And somebody I need to talk to. Everybody begin talking and scared. The Pastor silenced the church with the choir humming the spiritual, It is Well. And the Pastor spoke to Mr. Peterson and asked him privately but Mr. Peterson resisted and said I will talk to you if I could bring the person out. The Pastor let him. Mr. Peterson said I am looking for Saint, the last name is Saint. And the church laughed we all are Saints in God's eyes. What are you talking about man? said the Pastor. Mr. Peterson said Julia Saint. And the church started asking each other. Then the Pastor said Can we please get on with the sermon? People have to go home. Mr. Peterson said Her name starts with an R. I was shocked but so were the other people. Mr. Peterson said born in Virginia, Mississippi. And my uncle came into the meeting. And he heard and pulled me out and said Rebekka your real name is Julia Rebekka Saint and you were adopted. I said No uncle no. He said shaking his head yeah yeah. I almost passed out when my uncle straighten me out to save the town by saying it was me. I said it quietly and a little louder and then loudly. And Mr. Peterson said That;'s your name, ah ah ah I found her. You are the heir of Mr. and Mrs. Saint you are worth a fortune. Then I passed out and the church members came to help me. i said No Lord no. I worked all my life. I am not a rich snob. I worked all my life. The next day Mr. Peterson met me alone at the restaurant while my uncle was getting the restaurant ready. Mr. Peterson told me about my parents and he reassured me that I was their only heir. Then he asked me what I would do with the money. And I said spend on charities, save the church, repair the restaurant, and live well. Mr. Peterson said You really impressed me. You are thoughtful and kind. Your parents could not have prepared for this. Your check will be in the mail. Good Day Ms. Julia Rebekka Saint.
By Matthew Primous2 days ago in Confessions
A Flower Song
Apparently the Aztecs, Toltecs, Chichimecs and other Mexica were crazy about poetry. Despite the book-burning, slaughter, and epidemics that characterized the early stages of the Spanish conquest of the empires of Mexico, some hundreds of poems from the height of their tradition come down to us in Classical Nahuatl, preserved by Nahua and Spanish scholars of the 16th century. One of the most famous poets, Nezahualcoyotl, was a sage-king who opposed the cult of human sacrifice associated with Tezcatlipoca, God of the Smoking Mirror, and favored Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. Flowers and feathers were the favorite offering of the Plumed Serpent. Moreover, flowers and feathers are a metaphor for poetry. Individual words, scattered petals, the down of tropical birds. The temples of blood sacrifice could be transformed into temples of flower and song. A sublimated offering to the Heart of Earth and the Heart of Sky encapsulated in the Classical Nahuatl kenning for poetry: in xōchitl in cuīcatl, meaning, "the flower and the song." The following poem is part of a longer work, and is in a state of flux, so take the waters as they flow:
By Rob Angeli3 days ago in Poets
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could feel their connection