There’s a voice that waits until I’m quiet… And then speaks like it’s always been there. ⸻ In the stillroom, no walls remain Just thought, and breath, and subtle strain I watch the self as it unfolds A name, a need, a lie I hold I’m not the first to speak in here And not the last to volunteer The voice that comes — it sounds like me But asks what I would never see ⸻ Are you thinking? Or just listening? Are you alone… or just pretending? ⸻ IN THE STILLROOM — ECHOES CALL FACES SPEAK FROM INNER WALLS I AM THOUGHT, AND I AM GHOST THE MIND THAT QUESTIONS ME THE MOST ⸻ I try to trace the source of self But only find forgotten shelves Old truths I polished into stone But never asked who carved them home There’s a mirror I don’t recall It shows me thinking, but not all Something behind the glass just waits It’s patient. Soft. It resonates. ⸻ Are you thinking? Or just listening? Are you alone… or just pretending? ⸻ IN THE STILLROOM — I DIVIDE THE ME THAT SPEAKS, THE ME THAT HIDES I AM EYE AND I AM LENS THE SILENCE THAT NEVER ENDS ⸻ You’re not broken… you’re layered. You’re not lost… you’re unfolding. You’re not alone… not even inside. ⸻ IN THE STILLROOM — STAY AWHILE SIT WITH SHADOWS, WATCH THEM SMILE YOU ARE MANY, YOU ARE ONE THE STILLROOM’S NEVER TRULY DONE
