Petals Learn the Language of Stillness

More about Petals Learn the Language of Stillness

She sits where the river forgets its name,
a small wooden boat holding her
the way a thought holds its breath.

The blossoms lean low,
not to impress her,
but to listen.

Petals fall like unasked questions,
each one touching water
and becoming a widening yes.

She does not row.
She does not wait.
She simply allows the moment
to finish speaking through her.

Mist keeps the past gentle.
Light keeps the future kind.
Between them, she rests,
not lonely, not whole,
just present enough to be real.

The water remembers her shape,
even after she moves.
The blossoms remember her silence,
even after they drift away.

Nothing here insists on meaning.
Nothing begs to last.

And that,
that is why it feels like love.