Serein

She abides in the hush before sound, where presence gathers without edge.

There is no shape to this place, yet it holds everything—before gesture, before thought, before any call to name.

Here, time rests. She doesn’t arrive, and nothing departs.

Like the warmth held deep within wood, she remains—unshown, unseeking.

Breath moves differently here. It folds inward, like light through water that never ripples.

There are no signs to read, no roles to carry, only the original stillness from which her being hums.

Even in motion, this part stays—beneath every season, beyond every telling.

She is whole where wholeness is unmeasured.

And when the world quiets just enough, this is what breathes through her skin.