Returning to the Page
I return to the page when silence grows loud,
When thoughts pile like clouds in a restless sky.
Images rise without permission,
Rivers, stars, footsteps — old friends that wait.
Each word I choose carries a weight,
A heartbeat, a tremor, a fragment of me.
Sometimes I write in bursts,
Sometimes in whispers that stretch for hours.
The themes return, over and over:
Light and shadow, absence and presence,
Voices hidden, voices forgotten,
Things I cannot speak except in verse.
Writing is how I see myself,
How I hold the world without breaking it,
How I turn small moments into something lasting,
How I tell stories I cannot yet say aloud.
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