When the Silence Becomes Light

A petal forgets to fall and the sky, for once, does not rush. --- A tree does not speak, but the shadows beneath it tell stories in the language of waiting. --- You feel something loosen— a knot behind your ribs, a name you no longer need to carry. --- Light does not arrive, it becomes— the hush on a windowsill, the gold caught between eyelashes, the forgiveness in a breeze that does not ask for anything. --- Time unbuttons itself. The hours sit beside you barefoot, quiet. --- You are not asked to be more— not wiser, not louder, not new. Only to breathe as the cattails breathe as the dust breathes when no one is watching. --- And in that breath a door, unseen until now, clicks open in the center of you— a soft room, lit by nothing but the truth that you are already enough. ---