Silence is all that I know.
It sits beside me like an old coat,
frayed at the edges,
heavy with forgotten seasons.

Words used to come,
chattering like birds
on electric wires.
Now they roost elsewhere,
beyond reach.

The air does not stir
expect for the hush of thought
rising,
falling,
then vanishing
before it shapes a name.

In this quiet,
time stretches-
not forward,
not back-
just outward,
like breath that never returns.

I am not lonely here.
Only aware.
Of the space between moments,
of the weight of nothing said,
of the truth that does not need
a voice.