The Stillness Archive

Here is where the quiet things go.

The hushed breaths, the pauses that were stretched a little more than they should be, from what was not written but remained still.

The silence that followed

The glance that never needed words.

The weight of what was not said.

Sometimes I write. Sometimes I frame. Sometimes I look at the blank place until it talks first.

What I feel becomes ink. What I lose, I keep here. Every word is a pulse, to which there is a near faintness, but still living.

This is the stillness.

And the page? It remembers.

It will always remember.