The Struggle of Waiting

The world moves forward, swift and free,

while I remain—suspended, still—

not lost, not found, just in between.

I wait, but not for voice or sign,

nor distant hands to pull me through,

only a whisper, soft, divine—

a moment murmuring, This is it!

The silence hums in space,

between chairs, breathing slowly.

Each pause takes shape, a sound unspoken,

a beauty only stillness knows.

And maybe what we long to see

has been beside us all along—

not flashing signs, but simply being.