Standing Still

It's not a stillness, really, but the noise fading into something else. I am the forgotten beat in the rush, the space between clashing symbols, drowned out but unbroken. They circle around me, a frenzy of flashes, their words sparks, their bodies electric with purpose - all moving, all wanting, but I am the breath between their sighs. I don't belong to their script. No damsels, no dragons, no knights, no flashing lights to guide me home. I'm not waiting for a saviour, not longing for some twisted fantasy, but standing still, watching their world whirl by, wondering why l'm meant to join. It's an alien thing, this rush they call life - loud and hungry, a chorus I never asked for. But here, in my pause, I find something they'll never see: the quiet I refuse to swallow, the stillness that speaks louder than their endless demands. I'm not here to be shaped, not here to follow any painted road, and I have no story to write but the one I make now, with every moment I stay outside their frame, with every breath I take in defiance. Let them chase their lights and fantasies. I'll stand here, a sparkler in the dark, no crown, no tiara, but everything they forgot to name in their relentless spinning.