The Breath Between

“The Breath Between”

The curtains know
what we forget—
how to move
without forcing,
to dance
without needing an audience.

A breeze slips through the window
like a kind word
not meant to stir anything,
only to remind.

The fabric lifts,
not with urgency,
but as if remembering
something sacred—
the rhythm we once lived by
before the clocks
grew so loud.

I stand there watching,
feeling the hush between folds,
and it occurs to me:
this too is breathing.
This slow rising,
this letting go.

Not the breath we take
when we’re late,
or trying to prove we’re alive—
but the one
that settles the bones,
slows the blood,
and knows its way home
without trying.

Call it grace.
Call it the body's first language
returning to the room.

And maybe
this is all we ever needed—
a moment,
a window,
a thin veil of light
reminding us
how to flow again.