It has a texture, a dust

Like a reminder after the too loud moment
or like the space between the fall and the tears. 

It has a gravity,
like the falling feeling as air escapes the room
or an ombré filled space where you once were. 

It is volume,
like the empty cup you keep overfilling with chatter
and the sound as another command hits the floor. 

It is fear,
like the moment after the bump in the night
or listening to you lightly breathing, but actually checking proof of life. 

It is familiar,
like watching a thing long enough to behold it
or like our hands falling into a folded resting form. 

It is the thing you crave, then a thing you fear. 

It elevates will. 

It antagonizes while you await results.  

It takes a beat before expecting to be noticed. 

It is the moment just before acceptance. 

It is the disturbed air warning as the subway shoots past and like a decision between two emotions, fear and excitement, because they both feel the same in my body.

And sometimes, sometimes, it is the sleepy gaze from my cat atop the couch. 

One response to “quiet”

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