after Thich Nhat Hanh
We speak all day –
through screens,
through messages,
through the noise
of being connected.
And still,
we can be lonely.
Words can wound,
or they can water flowers.
A kind sentence,
a gentle reply,
even a letter
never sent,
can soften
something inside us.
So I sit
away from the screen,
and remember
the breath –
in,
out,
the quiet conversation
beneath all the others.
Nothing to prove.
Nothing to answer.
Only this moment,
and the possibility
of choosing words
with care.
That night
I fell asleep listening.
In the morning
I woke
feeling lighter,
as though somewhere
in the dark
something had been
quietly watered.