The Quiet Architecture

A cathedral built of dust motes, spinning in the shaft of afternoon light. It holds no weight, only the memory of breath, suspended before the exhalation.

The scaffolding of shadow lengthens across the uneven floorboards. We measure our days by these slow angles, the geometries of the unseen.

Let the structure dissolve into dusk. The strongest beams are the words unspoken, carrying the impossible load of everything we meant to say.