Listen

I listen to the world around me—

the sounds of life and joy and pain,

the melodies of birds and wind and rain,

the rhythms of heartbeats, breaths, and steps—

and something in me loosens,

as if the world is naming what I haven't dared to feel.

I listen to the stories they tell me—

the words of love and hope and fear,

the voices of friends and strangers and kin,

the whispers of secrets and dreams and sins—

and I feel them settle under my ribs,

stirring the quiet places where my own truths live.

I listen to the music that moves me—

the notes of harmony and discord and tune,

the instruments of strings, brass, and wood,

the songs of passion and sorrow and mood—

and I hear the echo of my own longing,

the parts of me I pretend are quieter than they are.

I listen to the silence that fills me—

the absence of noise, speech, and tone,

the stillness of calm and peace and rest—

and in that soft, unguarded hush,

I meet the version of myself I keep tucked away,

the sound of nothing and everything at once,

the place where I finally stop running from my own voice.