When Words Rest

Words are a form of expression —

we bring them forward to create what we hold within.

We arrange letters like brushstrokes,

explaining the colors of our experience,

trying to make sense of life through language.

Yet even as a writer,

there are times when words go quiet.

They do not disappear —

they simply return to stillness,

to the place from which they were born.

There is a whisper that lives in silence,

a soundless peace that speaks louder than language.

It moves like breath beneath the surface —

so quiet, I wonder if it belongs

to the same space where hair grows,

where wounds heal,

where creation itself waits unseen.

Maybe the truest words are not written at all —

maybe they’re felt,

in the pause between thoughts,

in the hush where life gathers strength to speak again.