You ever notice how silence has a pulse?
Like it ain’t just empty air, it’s breathing.
You can hear it if you listen long enough.
Between the fridge hum, the night traffic,
the half-remembered prayer you never finished saying.
I think that’s where the truth hides.
Not in the noise. Not in the shouting matches or the sermons or the newsfeed scroll.
It’s in that quiet right after you say something you can’t take back.
That half-second of stillness where you both realize you just changed everything.
I been chasing that silence lately.
Trying to sit with it, instead of filling it with excuses and music and smoke.
It’s heavy sometimes, like standing under water too long,
but if you wait, you start to hear things moving down there.
Your heart.
Your guilt.
Your hope still kicking, even after all that drowning.
And maybe that’s all being alive really is
learning how to listen when the world stops talking.
Learning how to love something
without needing to speak its name.
