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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I used to think peace would feel good. I thought I would recognize it when it came. I did not know how uncomfortable quiet could be when you have spent so long listening for something to go wrong. There is nothing wrong tonight. I keep checking. No footsteps are getting heavier, no change in someone's voice, no face I have to study before deciding what mine should look like. The room is still. The kind of still I used to ask for. And now that I have it, I don't know what to do with my hands. I don't know what peace feels like. I only know how to pretend I feel it. I know how to sit still while my mind keeps moving. I know how to say I'm resting while counting everything I should be doing instead. I know how to lie in bed and turn rest into another thing I am failing at. Even doing nothing feels like doing something wrong. My body fights the quiet. It has spent too long learning that quiet means something is coming. So when nothing comes, it does not relax. It waits. Sometimes tranquility feels like finally putting everything down and still feeling the weight in your hands. Your fingers stay curled around something that isn't there. You know you can let go. Your body doesn't. Not because you want to carry it again, but because carrying something gave your hands a purpose. And now they are empty. You spent so long asking for someone to take the weight that you never wondered what you would do with your hands once they did. Chaos gives you something to do. Something to fix. Something to prepare for. Something to survive. But peace asks nothing of you. And somehow, that is harder. Because who am I when nothing needs fixing? What do I do with a body that does not know how to be a body? What if I am always almost resting, almost present, almost okay? I am afraid of waking up years from now and realizing nothing was chasing me, but I ran anyway. Maybe I have spent so long measuring peace by the distance between disasters that I never learned what peace was on its own. Maybe I only know peace by what it is not. But if peace is only the absence of chaos, what is left when the chaos is gone? What does quiet become when I stop waiting for something to break it? There is nothing wrong tonight. I am safe enough to do nothing. And I am terrified that I will never learn how.
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