The Gift of Quiet

Alone is not the enemy,

though we’ve dressed it in shadow and fear.

It is the sound beneath the noise,

the breath we hold to hear.

When voices fade and rooms go still,

the world no longer begs reply.

In silence, something soft begins—

the soul steps out from where it hides.

No need to chase, no need to prove,

no crowd to weigh the worth you bear.

The echo you once ran from

becomes a voice that dares to care.

The empty seat, the quiet night,

the single cup, the unshared view—

they teach you you are not less whole

just because the world holds few.

There’s peace in walking roads alone,

in speaking thoughts aloud to trees.

The quiet asks no explanation,

yet answers come with subtle ease.

You find that purpose isn’t loud,

nor fame, nor praise, nor urgent pace.

It’s often written in the dust,

or carved in silence, soft as grace.

So don’t fear stillness—welcome it.

Don’t fill each hour just to flee.

For in the hush, you just may find

you were never lost,

just meant to be

free.