In a room where time loosens its grip,
she rests-
half in thought, half in light.
The window breathes quietly,
spilling pale hours onto the floor,
tracing her stillness
like a gentle promise.
A book lies open,
its words waiting-
but her mind drifts elsewhere,
to places not written,
to feelings without language.
Her feet lift idly,
as if testing the weight of nothing,
as if even gravity
has softened for her.
There is no urgency here.
No need to arrive,
No reason to leave.
Only the hush of an afternoon,
stretching itself thin,
wrapping her in its quiet embrace.
And in that unguarded pause,
she becomes part of the moment-
unfolding slowly,
like a thought
that chooses
to stay.
