The most easily forgotten
is the breath we take,
the beat beneath our skin,
a pulse so quiet
we don’t notice
until it slips away.
The most important things
are never loud—
they live in the silence
between our words,
the flicker in a glance,
the silent hum of a heart
we forgot to hear.
We search for meaning
in shouts, in echoes—
but the whispers—
soft as a sigh,
slip past unnoticed,
until they’re gone.
Like stars that fade at dawn,
the weight of love disappears
before we know it was ever there,
slipping through our hands
as we stand, empty,
too late to hold what could have been.
reflections of an unquiet mind 