The Quiet Edge
The Quiet Edge
It isn’t loud like people think.
It’s quieter than that.
Quieter than a room after everyone leaves,
quieter than your phone when it stops lighting up.
It feels like being misplaced,
like you were meant for somewhere else
and accidentally ended up here.
You carry your name like it belongs to someone stronger.
You carry your smile like borrowed clothing.
Everything fits, technically,
but none of it feels like yours.
Time moves strangely.
Minutes stretch into something endless,
and hope becomes a word
you remember more than recognize.
Still, there is something fragile that remains—
not loud, not certain,
but present.
Like a thread you haven’t let go of.
Like a window you haven’t closed.
Like a small voice that doesn’t promise anything,
only whispers,
stay.
And sometimes,
that whisper
is enough to keep the light
from going out
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