When Silence Learned to Breathe

The night was too quiet — not peaceful quiet, but the kind that presses on your ears until your own heartbeat feels too loud.

Outside, the moonlight lay across the old wooden floor like a sheet of frost I sat alone, thinking of my grandmother’s house — the one that always sighed when no one was there.

That’s when I realized: fear doesn’t always scream. Sometimes, it breathes.Softly. Patiently. Right behind you.

🩸 The Haiku:

When Silence Learned to Breathe

Walls hum without sound

Shadows wait where eyes once blinked

Fear wears quiet skin

I wrote this haiku after a night when my own thoughts felt louder than the world.

It’s about the moment fear stops being something outside of you — and becomes something that lives within the silence itself

Sometimes the scariest thing isn’t a scream in the dark.

It’s realizing the dark has been listening… all along.