before the scroll took over

a soft life we didn’t know was disappearing

.
.
we lived slower when no one was watching

I remember the days before the scroll
when mornings were just mornings
not content
not proof
not something to save for later

back then
silence felt normal
and nothing buzzed in our pockets
pulling us out of the moment we were already in

we lived inside our days
not outside them
trying to frame them

when time felt wider

.
.
we didn’t rush to record, we just lived

afternoons used to stretch
like they had nowhere else to be

no notifications
no tiny red dots calling us back
no quiet pressure to keep up

we talked more
looked up more
noticed small things
like how the light moved across a wall
or how a friend’s laugh softened when they were tired

.
.
the camera was a memory, not a performance

we took pictures
but only a few
and only when something felt worth holding

no retakes
no angles
no thinking about who might see it later

just a moment
kept gently
for ourselves

.
.
we weren’t curating, we were just being

we didn’t measure our days by engagement
or compare our lives to strangers
or feel the quiet pressure to look like we were thriving

we were allowed to be boring
allowed to be quiet
allowed to be real

.
.
and suddenly the world got louder

little by little
the feed became a habit
then a reflex
then a place we lived more than our own lives

but sometimes
when the morning is soft
and the world is slow
I remember how it felt before all this

and I try
even for a minute
to live like that again