The Silence

I began with the sound of my own steps,

soft against the ground—

a rhythm that didn’t ask to be heard,

only followed.

The world around me felt paused,

like it had inhaled and forgotten to let go.

Moss grew like a memory across stones,

and the trees leaned in,

not to listen,

but to simply be.

There was magic in the stillness,

not loud or luminous—

more like the soft hum beneath all things,

the kind you only notice

when everything else has stopped.

A crow called once,

sharp and sudden,

as if it too remembered something

it couldn’t quite touch.

Then—

the shift.

Not a sound,

but a realization,

like remembering your own name

after forgetting it in a dream.

This wasn’t absence.

This was presence

in its purest form.

The air thick with meaning,

the space between leaves

alive with the things we never say aloud.

I didn’t feel alone.

I felt witnessed.

Like the sky had taken note,

like the wind had read my thoughts

and chose to stay quiet

out of kindness.