I don’t reach for words—
they arrive,
like quiet footsteps in an empty room.
There’s something tender
about being here,
breathing in a moment
no one else can hold the same way.
I have known the weight of silence,
how it presses gently
until it teaches you to listen—
to your own pulse,
to the fragile music of hope
hiding beneath ordinary days.
If I could give you anything,
it wouldn’t be answers
or polished lines—
just this:
a small, steady light
that refuses to go out,
even when the night forgets your name.
Because you are still here.
And that—
more than anything I could write—
is a kind of poetry.
Thank-you for reading.
Brenda Marie
Discover more from Writing Through the Soul
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Brenda, your words have a way of making the air feel a bit stiller. There is such a profound, quiet strength in how you describe silence—not as a void, but as a teacher.
That final image of “fragile music hiding beneath ordinary days” is absolutely haunting in the best way. It’s a beautiful reminder to stay sensitive to the small, rhythmic wonders we often overlook. Thank you for sharing such a soulful, grounded piece of writing.
Thank you so much for your thoughtful words! I’m so glad that the piece resonated with you. Silence has always felt like a quiet teacher to me, and I love that it’s come across in a way that speaks to you. The image of “fragile music hiding beneath ordinary days” is one I hold close, and it warms my heart to know it sparked something meaningful for you. Your kindness and reflection mean the world. Thank you for reading and for taking the time to share your thoughts!