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So this is how it comes, then...
Not with clarity, not with final words —
but slowly.
Like light slipping under a closed door.
Like breath returning,
after holding it too long.

I thought silence would feel empty.
But it moves.
It holds what stayed.
What remained after the noise,
after the trying,
after the guarding.

There’s nothing left to divide now.
Nothing to defend.
Nothing to fix.

I don’t need answers.
I don’t even need names.
Just this —
this quiet rhythm.
This soft unfolding.

Just being.

Added Apr 12, 2025

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