In the Pause

The world holds its breath— no birds yet, no traffic, just the hum of the refrigerator and your own heartbeat reminding you you're still here.

Everything is blue-grey stillness, a color that doesn't have a name because it only exists in this narrow window between what was and what's coming.

Your coffee is getting cold. The house creaks like it's thinking. Outside, the trees are just shapes, waiting for the sun to remember how to make them green again.

You could write something. You could stay quiet. Either way, the light is coming— patient, inevitable, ready to erase this tender darkness.