Quiet Text

Pages folded soft,

edges curled like the years

between these thin leaves.

Words sit still,

a silence heavier than prayer

hanging in the air,

the quiet between knocks on the door.

A small book, no answers,

just folded lines and forgotten hands,

a hollow peace that never speaks.

I open it, finger trailing

blank spaces that feel

like secrets I’m not meant to know,

waiting there—unfinished,

not quite ready to be read.