The Space Between Breaths

The air suspends itself between inhale and release— a breath held by the afternoon, caught in the teeth of silence.

Even the light pauses here, golden and deliberate, choosing its angle through the leaves like a hand deciding where to touch.

Nothing moves but the thought of moving, the way a bird considers the distance before commitment, wings flexed against the promise of wind.

We are all just holding, waiting for permission to fall or finally to fly, suspended in the space between two names for the same thing.