Even If Only in Stillness

Even If Only in Stillness

— The silent thoughts of a soul not yet born

Warm.

Dark.

Safe.

That sound again—thump… thump… thump.

It’s always there.

Like a steady drum. Like ocean waves against a distant shore.

A signal in the silence: I’m here. I’m here.

Her laughter spills into my world.

It flutters around me like butterflies—ticklish, light, beautiful.

Then comes her touch.

Gentle pressure on the outside of the wall that holds me.

I don’t know what hands are, not really.

But I think that’s what it is—her hand.

Or maybe it’s love.

A voice interrupts.

Deeper. Louder.

Different.

Then it disappears.

I try to reach for it.

But I don’t have arms. Not yet.

Still—I try.

I float.

Inside music. Inside breath.

Inside her.

She hums sometimes.

Not perfectly—but sweetly.

Even when the notes fall wrong, I love the way it makes everything dance.

When she walks softly, when her breath evens out,

I feel her calm from within.

It shines like something I don’t have a word for.

Something bright.

What is “bright”?

I don’t know.

But I want to feel it again.

More and more.

And then—

It shifts.

The music disappears.

The dancing stills.

Her heart, once soft, becomes sharp.

She’s crying.

Not loud.

But I feel it.

The warmth that surrounds me cools.

The water feels heavier.

Her sadness becomes mine.

I try to move.

To reach toward her.

To tell her, “I’m okay. You’re not alone.”

But my body is small. Still forming.

My voice doesn’t exist yet.

I’m not ready.

Still—I try.

I twist.

I flutter.

Sometimes I push.

Just a little—just enough to say, “Remember me.”

Sometimes, I think she does.

Her hand settles gently on her belly.

And for a moment, I feel her stillness.

I press into it.

A hello. A hug. A plea.

But then, sometimes—she pulls away.

Light glows faintly through her skin.

Fingers? A shape?

A touch, light and slow.

“Hi,” I think.

“I feel you.”

Another voice joins us.

Strange words.

Cold gel. A smooth wand pressing down.

I twitch.

They laugh.

She doesn’t.

I don’t understand why.

But I love her.

Even if she doesn’t know it yet.

She walks a lot now.

Fast. Tense.

Her breath catches. Her sleep is shallow.

I wish I could sleep for her.

Take her fear, her worry, her doubt.

Wrap her in this quiet dark that feels like peace.

Sometimes I hear her whispering.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m scared.”

I don’t have ears, not like hers.

But I hear it anyway.

In the way her body shifts.

In the way her heart skips.

I want to tell her:

“I’m brave.”

“I trust you.”

“I forgive you, even if you think I shouldn't have to.”

Still—I hope.

Sometimes I dream.

Of things I’ve never seen.

Of grass, soft and cool beneath my feet.

Of skies, blue and endless.

Of birds singing in the distance.

Maybe these dreams come from her.

Maybe they’re made from her memories.

Or maybe… they’re promises.

In one dream, I float toward the sky.

A soft blue, stretching forever.

I feel something like wind.

Something like freedom.

And then—I hear her laugh again.

Far away, but real.

I stretch toward the sound.

I think I smile.

But then—I wake.

Still floating.

Still waiting.

I think there’s a door.

Somewhere just ahead.

I imagine it’s yellow.

Soft and round and glowing.

I imagine she’s on the other side of it.

Arms open. Eyes shining.

Waiting.

I imagine I’ll step through it, and she’ll know my name.

Even if I never spoke it.

Then—another voice.

Louder.

Urgent.

Papers rustle. Doors open.

The world changes.

Suddenly—

Cold.

So cold.

What is this place?

Where is the music?

Where is the thump-thump?

Everything sounds sharp now.

Echoes.

Metal.

Air, but not like before.

This air doesn’t hold me.

It pushes me.

She’s here.

I feel her.

Her breath.

But it’s shaky. Torn.

I move.

Just a little.

A curl. A stretch.

My final effort.

Do you feel me?

Do you still want me?

Her heart is crying now.

Not with tears, but with pain.

The kind no one sees.

And mine… slows.

The door never opened.

The light never came.

The name never reached me.

But I was here.

For a moment.

Inside her.

Wrapped in love I didn’t yet understand.

But I felt it.

Even if she didn’t speak to me,

Even if no one else ever knew—

I was here.

And I loved her.

And I tried.

Even if only in stillness.