It is ours: that ever-present space, even before it reaches us

It is ours: that ever-present space, even before it reaches us, That subtle space, a place of respite, a moment of deep silence, When you collapse onto a bed thinking of nothing, lost in the sweet void, Or when you pour a glass of water from the tap, fascinated by the absence of thoughts, That pure and gentle space, more precious than centuries of existence, Just to scratch your neck while looking out the window at a bare branch. That secret space, before they touch us with their tumult, Assures us that when they do, they can never take everything away, For there will always remain something untouched, an unspoken essence, A sanctuary of peace where the soul retreats to find its balance, A moment of eternity, hidden in the banality of daily existence, Where we find ourselves, free from the burden of time and expectations.