The Space Between

The light collects in corners where winter hasn't finished leaving— dust motes drift through amber slants like memory itself unsettled.

Between the breath and the next breath lives a whole world we never enter: the pause where sound becomes silence, where silence learns to speak again.

The walls hold conversations their plaster has forgotten. Each crack a river running backward toward the hands that made them.

Spring is just the earth learning to remember green— not arrival, but recognition, a name we call back to life.