The Silent Interval

There is a space between the falling of the stone and the settling of the dust. A suspension of breath, where the clock has stopped but the day refuses to end. We exist in this hollow stretch of time—a silent interval where nothing is promised and everything simply is. There is no tragedy here, only the long, silent interval of waking up, standing still, and waiting for a night that has already arrived. We don't ask why anymore; we simply endure the weight of being.