Before the Birds Learn Their Names

Before the birds learn their names, the world holds its breath in indigo— a space so heavy with waiting it becomes a thing you can touch.

The silence tastes like copper, like the metal edge of something about to begin. Each shadow is a question the dark asks itself.

What if we remained here, in this generous emptiness, before the sun arrives with its demands, before color teaches us to want?

The night recedes like a gentle hand, leaving only the faint percussion of our own uncertain hearts, the one sound that refuses to fade.