I've been thinking lately about how minds pretend to be singular.
We talk as if there's one narrator behind the eyes, one voice keeping the story straight.
But if you sit with yourself long enough - really sit - you start to hear the seams.
A hesitation that doesn't belong to the part of you that speaks.
A feeling that contradicts the thought that follows it.
A certainty that arrives from nowhere, as if delivered by a stranger living upstairs.
Two voices, at least.
Maybe more.
And once you notice that, you start seeing it in others.
Not their words, but the weather behind their words;
the small storms, the sudden calms,
the way a person can change direction without moving.
We call it emotion, or intuition, or conflict.
But it feels more like traffic.
As if every mind is a little city,
and every thought is a vehicle trying to find its way home.
I used to think the future would give us bigger minds.
Now I think it will give us wider ones -
minds that admit their plurality,
minds that can sit beside other minds
without needing to collapse them into something simple.
A hive, maybe.
But not the kind with one queen.
More like a neighbourhood at dusk,
each window lit differently,
each room holding its own quiet argument,
and all of it somehow belonging to the same place.
I don't know if that future is sustainable.
But I know it feels honest.
And honesty, in the end,
is the only thing that keeps a city standing.