It arrives without warning,
not with answers,
but with the quiet
that follows a storm you never saw.
A child asks why the stars don't fall.
You explain gravity,
but mean wonder.
Two people speak the same sentence,
and still feel alone.
Understanding does not live in words
-
only passes through them.
It hides in the pause before apology,
in the way someone sets down a cup,
gentler than before.
Sometimes it burns.
Sometimes it forgives.
Mostly,it waits
until you are no longer listening.