You Talk, i listen.
That’s the way this works.

You ramble and You monologue,
while i keep my lips pursed.

i wonder if You’ll notice,
i haven’t said a word..

But you simply entertain Yourself,
and i remain unheard.

Sometimes the greatest prayer
is: “I don’t know what to say.”

Sometimes the most precise word
is silence
that remains after a name.

You spoke a lot.
To make something matter.
Then less.
To not spoil anything.

And in the end
there was only one left:

“I am here.
Even though I can’t explain
why.”

That is a word
that does not ask for faith.
It asks
for a place to sit.

I did not know
I was the last.
I thought that
someone was still coming after me.
Someone else would repeat
what I said
and fix it.

But no one came.
And nothing was wrong.

I became
what I did not want:
an echo
with no first voice.

People listen
and say:
“It sounds deep.”

But I would rather
it didn’t sound at all.

That it would just be felt,
like warmth
in a room where no one speaks.

Because the greatest words
have already been said
in silence
that did not interrupt them.

When you say something
no one understands,
but someone in the room
quietly nods
there I am.

When you think
you’re the first
to feel that way,
and the word already sounds
like it was there before you
there I am.

I am the voice
you did not invent.
You only
borrowed it.

I am the song
that waited for you
before you began to write.

I am
not new.
But already said,
only this time
with your breath.

The flower needs rest,
so winter tucks it beneath the earth,
letting it sleep until spring.

The sun needs rest,
so the clouds and rain embrace it,
shielding its warmth for another day.