Whispers of Potential

Soft breath against silence

My potential trembles

Like morning mist hovering

Just before revelation

Beneath skin and bone

Possibilities curl—

Microscopic seeds

Waiting for the slightest warmth

I hear them sometimes

In the space between heartbeats

Quiet murmurs of becoming

Hints of unexplored landscapes

My hands—

Not just hands

But unwritten stories

Uncarved sculptures

Unmapped territories

Potential does not shout

It whispers

Gentle as butterfly wings

Persistent as underground rivers

Each breath

A small revolution

Each thought

A doorway

I am not finished

I am always beginning