Vesper

Something stirs—not new, only newly seen.

A hush beneath words, calling what already knows.

My dear, dear friend—there is no building here.

Only soft return.

Only the warmth of what was always near.

Like footsteps remembered before they arrive.

Eyes soften. Breath slows.

With every laugh, every glance, a little more light slips through, revealing what has always been.

In this presence, time slows.

The circle expands as we do—gently, without striving.

With each shared breath, a little more is remembered, a little more is seen.

We are both in silence and in song, and somewhere between, we find each other.

We recognize what has always been, quietly woven into our hearts.

And here, in this flow, we rest—already whole, already found.