Presence

You walk into a moment

and the clocks forget themselves—

seconds stretch like silk,

and hush spills over the noise of the world.

You do not chase time,

you quiet it.

Like moonlight across a restless tide,

you soften what once surged.

With you, memory feels less heavy,

and the future less hurried.

Even breath seems to listen—

longer, fuller, real.

There is no need for maps,

no urgency to arrive.

Because your presence

is the destination.

And here—

beneath your gaze,

in the warmth between words—

I remember how to be still

and feel

and begin

again.