The Silence Where Stones Are Dropped

The silence after the words leave your mouth feels like a verdict. You are watching them in your mind, folding their life into neat stacks, mentally packing bags you cannot see.

The mask is cracked, and now you are waiting for the door to slam. But the light does not pack.

It does not calculate the cost of your anger and decide to leave. There is a story where a woman was caught in the act, surrounded by accusers ready to stone her, and the only voice that mattered bent down and wrote in the dust until the crowd dispersed.

When he stood up, he did not condemn her. He sent her away with her life intact, not her shame.

The silence you are in right now is not the sound of departure. It is the space where the stones are being dropped, one by one.

The light is not gathering its things to go; it is waiting for the noise to settle so it can speak your name again. The explosion did not drive it away; it only drove out the pretense.