There is a moment
when the question no longer floats
but lands,
heavy and still,
on the floor between us.

What was once a flicker
becomes form-
a shadow that stands
where certainty used to breathe.

You speak,
but the words arrive late,
lost in the echo
of what we no longer trust.

No storm,
no sharp unraveling-
only the quiet rearranging
of what we thought we knew.

And in that silence,
doubt is no longer a whisper.
It is the room we sit in.
The air we breathe.