What Fills the Pause

Between your words, a held breath— the space where understanding lives, not in what we say but in the room we leave.

A musician knows this: the rest is not emptiness but permission, the silence that lets the next note sing.

We rush to fill the quiet, afraid some truth might settle in the gap, some mirror show what light cannot illuminate.

But in the pause, a door opens— fingers of dusk creeping through a window, the garden breathing while we listen.