There is a quiet place
Between one heartbeat and the next
Where the air flickers
Not loud
Not violent
Just a soft
Electric trembling
Like a radio tuned almost right
In that thin
Humming space
Voices don’t shout
They drift
They curl like smoke around the edges
Of a half formed idea
Whispering possibilities
That never quite settle into truth
Some days the static feels gentle
A snowfall of sound
Each flake a thought that could be mine
Or could be borrowed
From some unseen corner of the mind
Other days it crackles
Sharp
Bright
Insistent
Splitting the world
Into overlapping versions of itself
Each one tugging at the sleeve
Of my attention
But even in the noise
There is a strange kind of beauty
A constellation of fractured stars
A map drawn in trembling lines
A reminder that the mind
Is not a single room
But a whole house of shifting light
And somewhere in that house
In the static between thoughts
I stand quietly
Listening
Breathing
Trying to gather the scattered sparks
Into something like a self
That can hold its shape
Long enough
To feel real