The Weight of Quiet

Between the spoken word and breath lives an ocean no throat can cross— spaces where meaning drowns before it finds the air.

I've held conversations with closed lips, argued with the shape of shadows, heard entire symphonies in the pause before an answer.

Silence is not the absence of sound but its shadow, following every note, collecting what words leave behind: doubt, longing, the weight of what remains unspoken.

In the quiet, I recognize myself— not in the noise I make, but in the careful distances I keep, the words I swallow like stones, and still, I sing.