Common Hour 🌱

listen

the house hums in its own language

a spoon stirs the silence

the air folds over yesterday’s news

i write

though no one asks me to

ink trails where thought forgets its shape

sentences rest where breath runs thin

the world mistakes my pause

for peace

it doesn’t know

how loud stillness can be

i talk to the page

like an old companion

half promise half echo

not today i whisper

but soon

and the paper smiles

creasing at the edges

as if it already knows

how deftly a dream

drapes its gold

over the common hour