Stay Here in the Quiet

Close your eyes.

Don’t run from the noise.

Let it pass like traffic

beyond a closed window,

like sirens fading down a wet street.

Now listen

to what remains.

Silence is not empty.

It is a warm room

where your breath

comes in

and goes out

like a patient tide

against a shoreline that has seen storms.

Inhale.

Feel the cool air touch the tip of your nose.

Exhale.

Feel your chest soften,

your shoulders dropping

one inch closer to rest,

as if you have finally set down something heavy.

Stay here.

Stay here with me.

Silence has gentle hands.

It loosens the knot in your throat

you have carried all day.

It unclenches your jaw.

It opens your palms

as if you are learning to trust again.

Listen to the small sound of your pulse in your ear.

That humble drum.

That steady yes

beneath the noise,

beneath the doubt.

You are still here.

You are still held.

If a thought knocks at the door,

look it in the eye.

Do not push it away.

Do not follow it.

Let it sit for a moment

and then watch it leave

like steam fading from glass,

like your name whispered once

and then gone.

Stay here.

Stay here with me.

Silence transforms

because it does not demand.

It does not compete.

It does not raise its voice.

It returns you to what is simple:

the soles of your feet against the floor,

the fabric of your clothes brushing your skin,

the mild temperature of the air along your neck.

In this space without words

your heart remembers its natural rhythm.

Not the rhythm of fear.

Not the rhythm of hurry.

The deep rhythm

of someone who has survived

and no longer needs to prove anything.

Place your hand now at the center of your chest.

Feel the warmth beneath your palm.

Your peace lives there.

Not outside.

Not tomorrow.

Here.

Whisper inside, without sound:

I am safe.

I am present.

I am home.

And let silence answer

not with sentences,

but with a gentle widening

that opens from your sternum

to your throat

to your closed eyelids,

like a window unlocked at last.

Stay here.

Stay here with me.

When you open your eyes,

carry this space in your pockets.

Like a smooth stone you can touch in secret.

Like a small light burning behind your ribs

even on the days

when the world is loud and unkind.

Silence does not leave you.

It walks with you.

It breathes with you.

It prays with you.

And each time the world shouts,

return.

Here.