The Silence Between Notes

In the cathedral of a quiet room, dust motes hold their ancient light— each particle a world refusing to fall.

The space between your breath and mine becomes architecture we inhabit, a room built from the weight of not-speaking, where understanding lives in the gaps.

Thunder promises to return, but we are content with the echo's ghost, the way sound lingers in a hallway after the door has closed.

Meaning pools in the spaces we leave empty, a congregation of words we never needed, a song that sang itself before language learned how to break the silence.