Silence is not absence—
it is a gentle unraveling,
a slow letting go of tension held
in the fibers of the heart.
It does not shout, nor break;
it seeps in quietly,
like dawn’s light folding over the hills,
softening edges once sharp with pain.
In the space where words once clashed,
silence plants a garden of stillness—
each breath a petal unfolding,
each pause a root growing deeper.
Here, the weight of unspoken sorrow
melts into the earth,
where grief can rest,
and hope can whisper,
without demand or fear.
This silence holds the echoes
of what was left unsaid—
not as chains, but as threads
woven gently into the fabric of being,
binding wounds with quiet care.
And in this quiet,
the heart learns to listen anew—
to the softness beneath the storm,
to the tender pulse of peace
rising from the ashes of goodbye.
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