(A moment caught between light and silence, almost close enough to hold.)
I carried the evening lightly,
as though it might slip through my hands,
the way your voice once did
when you paused mid‑sentence,
letting the unfinished thought
settle between us
like dust in a quiet room.
Outside, the street held its breath,
as if waiting for something
it could not quite name.
A single window glowed across the square,
a reminder that someone else
was awake with their own
unspoken fragments.
The air shifted,
carrying the faint scrape of a chair,
small sounds already fading
even as they arrive.
And in that thinning light,
I understood how easily
a moment can pass through you
without ever revealing
what it meant to say.
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 10:00 AM UTC
(A moment caught between light and silence, almost close enough to hold.)
I carried the evening lightly,
as though it might slip through my hands,
the way your voice once did
when you paused mid‑sentence,
letting the unfinished thought
settle between us
like dust in a quiet room.
Outside, the street held its breath,
as if waiting for something
it could not quite name.
A single window glowed across the square,
a reminder that someone else
was awake with their own
unspoken fragments.
The air shifted,
carrying the faint scrape of a chair,
small sounds already fading
even as they arrive.
And in that thinning light,
I understood how easily
a moment can pass through you
without ever revealing
what it meant to say.
A poem about the moments that hover at the edge of perception – the light you almost catch, the silence that almost speaks. Sometimes the world around us holds the shape of something we can feel but not quite name.
