Question

The Space Between Breaths...


Night doesn’t rush me.
It waits.
Like it knows I’ll eventually start thinking
about everything I almost said
and the things I said too carefully.

My brain pulls chairs into a circle,
lets each doubt speak uninterrupted.
I listen longer than I should.
I always do.
I measure myself in pauses
how long before I answer,
how long before I admit something mattered,
how long before I forgive myself
for not knowing sooner.
I’ve learned how to keep my voice level,
even when my thoughts climb the walls.
I’ve learned that composure
isn’t peace,
it’s just control with better posture.
Memory doesn’t shout.
It taps.
A gentle insistence
that I remember who I was
when I didn’t know how to brace for impact.
Some nights I mistake vigilance for wisdom,
assume if I stay alert enough
nothing will surprise me.
As if life ever agreed to that rule.
Still, I breathe.
In.
Out.
Not to calm myself
just to prove I’m still here.
I don’t solve anything before sleep.
I don’t reach clarity or closure.
I only make room
for the unfinished parts of me
to rest without apology.
And maybe that’s enough tonight
to exist between breaths,
not fixed, not broken,
just present,
letting the quiet pass through
without taking pieces of me with it.

Answer 1

I love your poem jazzy it has a special emotion and meaning behind it. I love this poem so infinity out of infinity can’t wait for the next one.