Shells
I did not wake one morning afraid of the noise it gathered slowly like salt in the seams of my skin
Once, I was a window open, wind-loud curtains breathing in stranger’s laughter I let every voice rearrange the furniture of my chest
But words can bruise even when they mean no harm and rooms can crowd without meaning to
So I began collecting quiet the way children pocket stones one smooth refusal one early goodbye one unanswered call at a time
I found comfort in smaller shapes lamplight cupped in the corner the faithful hum of a closed door the soft arithmetic of my own thoughts adding and adding without interruption
They said I was disappearing I felt like I was condensing becoming ocean inside of a single shell carrying tides no one could hear unless they leaning in close
Silence is not empty it is layered like the inside of a seashell spiraled with echoes that belong only to me
Now I walk with the shoreline inside my ribs I speak when the waves rise I retreat when they don’t
This is not fear it is a careful folding a drawing inward not to hide but to hold
If you press your ear to the curve of me you might mistake it for distance
but listen longer
You will hear an entire sea learning to speak in its own time
