The Space Between

Between the drum of blood and stillness, a universe unravels— each silence a small death, each breath a resurrection we don't witness.

The heart knows its own arithmetic, counts the space between yes and no, learns the grammar of rest before the next insistence of living.

We call it peace, this pause, this hollow where the body remembers it was once a handful of dust, might become it again.

But there—in that threshold where the pulse goes quiet— something blooms that has no name, something older than language, truer than blood.