The Language of quiet

The Language of Quiet

 

Do not mistake my quiet for an empty room.

It is a cathedral filled with echoes.

 

When I grow silent,

I am not drifting away.

I am arriving.

 

I am watching the way your eyes brighten

when you speak of something you love.

I am collecting laughter before it fades,

storing gentle moments like pressed flowers

between the pages of my heart.

 

I listen more than I speak,

because every voice I cherish

is a melody worth remembering.

 

While others hurry to fill the silence,

I wander through it,

reflecting on yesterday's footprints,

walking beside today's blessings,

and wondering what tomorrow

will quietly place into my hands.

 

I am preserving memories,

small fragments of ordinary days,

knowing they will become the fire

that keeps my soul warm

when my hair has turned silver

and time has softened my steps.

 

Sometimes I am an introvert,

content to live inside the peaceful corners

where thoughts bloom into understanding.

Done