The Spaces Between

A breath holds more than sound ever could— the pause before a word arrives, the distance between footsteps, where meaning learns to wait.

I remember you in the gaps: the white of the page around your handwriting, the hum of nothing after you stopped speaking, how absence proved you'd been there.

Time is mostly empty space, stars separated by voids that dwarf them, yet we trace the light between and call it connection. What if the silence is the song?

The gaps are where we live— suspended between what was said and what could never be.