There is a moment just before something happens where everything is still pretending The room holds its breath but no one notices I watch the clock like it owes me an explanation but time has already left the conversation People pass like unfinished sentences faces folding into themselves as if meaning was something to be hidden I try to remember if I was ever as certain as they look There are patterns in the way we wait small rituals we don’t admit to checking reflections in darkened windows as if someone else might answer back And everything moves but nothing arrives everything shifts but nothing decides We stand in the outline of what could begin tracing the shape of waiting A voice in the distance says something important but the words dissolve before they reach me I nod anyway out of habit out of practice out of fear of being seen Silence is not empty It is full of things we refuse to name And everything moves but nothing arrives everything shifts but nothing decides We stand in the outline of what could begin tracing the shape of waiting There was a time when I thought movement meant change Now I am not so sure The clock continues without permission and I continue with it
