The Interval

There is music in the pause— each breath a held note, the way light hesitates before naming a color.

Between your thought and mine lives a country of air, unmapped, infinite, where words haven't yet learned to break their silence.

The heart knows this: each beat a small death followed by resurrection, the space between where we are most alive.

Even now, you read these words and somewhere in your chest a door opens— a door that exists only in the space between my intention and your understanding.