You don’t have to invent it.
You never did.
The shape,
the sound,
the word —
they already exist
somewhere between breath and shadow.
You are not the maker.
You are the listening.
The soft animal that lets it pass through
without tightening.
If it comes,
let it.
If it leaves,
don’t chase it.
You are not here
to hold it forever.
Only to host
its becoming.
When your hands shake,
when nothing feels certain —
that may be the exact moment
you’re finally transparent enough
to carry something real.
Don’t fill the silence too quickly.
Don’t rush to say it right.
Let it move
through the ribcage,
through the spine,
through the wrist —
like wind
learning your name.
