Most people listen like they’re waiting in line,
Nodding on cue, missing the spine.
Noise dressed as talk, polished but hollow,
Egos so loud they drown what they swallow.
But then—once in a while—a voice lands clean,
Cuts through the fluff, sharp, unseen.
Not performance, not polish, no need to impress,
Just presence that lingers, saying far more with less.
Protect that gold, it doesn’t come cheap,
One true exchange outvalues a heap.
Talk is for many, connection for few—
Spend it like treasure, on those who see you.
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