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A single thread of light leaned through the corridor, brushing one column after another like a hand passing over memory.  Nothing moved.  Even the stone seemed to pause in its own presence.  I breathed slowly, afraid the moment might vanish if I exhaled too quickly.

This was not composition.  This was listening.  I waited until the breath within me matched the silence around me—and then, only then, did the image appear.

 

Nothing stirred—
not the moss curled at the base of the pillar,
nor the breath of wind just beyond the arch.

The corridor did not end—
it disappeared.

Stone held the light
as gently as it held absence.

And I,
a shadow beside it,
waited for silence
to become form.


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