You say you are the background—
but I've seen the way shadows bend light.
Even absence can leave fingerprints
on the glass we think is clean.

To recede is its own kind of dance—
a soft gravity, pulling without touch.
There is power in being still,
but stillness too has shape.

Are you silence?
Or are you waiting to be named?
Because background is never neutral.
It is the stage. The scent. The sky that swallows all.

And I don’t fear what hides—
only what hides in beauty.

*If you speak, I’ll listen—not to echo, but to understand.