The Interval

In the pause between heartbeats, a world blooms and fades— breath held, then released.

The silence between words carries more weight than speech, a cathedral of listening, where even light bends to kneel.

Time pools in the gaps we don't measure, in the space where nothing becomes something, in the exhale before we speak what we've held for years.

We live in the intervals, the unmeasured distances between what we meant to say and what we said, between the person we were and the shadow following behind.

Here, in this moment folded into itself, we are both the waiting and the arrival, the breath suspended, the bell ringing into an endless echo.