The Space Between Breathing

The space between breathing holds no sound, no hunger— just the echo of what was, settling like dust in sunlight.

There, in that pause, the world forgets to keep time, and we are nothing but the intention to continue.

Then comes the exhale, warm and ordinary, carrying out what we cannot name, leaving room for what arrives next.

This is the work of silence— not erasure, but a perfect hinge where one moment pivots into another, and we understand, finally, that stopping is its own kind of motion.