Ruminate

There is a strange power in stillness,  

in the space between impulse and action,  

a quiet revolution of holding your breath,  

letting the words cool before release.    

You have felt it, haven’t you?  

That hum of urgency in your thumbs,  

that fluttering insistence to respond,  

as if silence were a crime.    

But silence knows how to carry wisdom,  

how to cradle it like a sleeping child,  

gently, carefully, against the shoulder  

of a moment unfinished.    

Words have sharp edges when they’re hurried,  

shiny, but unpolished, a blur of feeling.  

They miss the tenderness lurking deeper,  

the layers you couldn't yet unwrap.    

Take the night—sit with the moonlight,  

ask it to soften your knotted thoughts.  

Let the stars string themselves gently  

where your punctuation used to be.    

By then, your reply might grow wings,  

or stay grounded, tucked into pocket lines.  

Not every heartbeat needs a megaphone.  

Not every lightning bolt should spark the air.