Quiet but not silent
Some nights there are no words.
The memories of the day slip by like a steam of water flowing through my fingers, never stopping to define itself. My hands glisten in the flow, and I bend my head close, hoping to hear its whispered secrets.
But the stream rushes on, rippling across my palms, singing in a language I cannot comprehend, laughing as it swirls away from me on its journey.
I don’t know where it’s going. I don’t know what it’s saying.
Perhaps no definition is necessary, and the laughter is a reminder that sometimes it is joy to simply be.