The Letter Without a Signature There are moments when the world grows quiet enough that even the smallest things seem eager to speak. Not with voices, but with presence. The hush of an ancient forest. The patient rhythm of a river polishing stone. The wind wandering through the branches as though it remembers a path older than memory itself. The stars kindling one by one over the horizon, each arriving without haste, as if eternity has never learned the meaning of urgency. Many see only the mechanics of these things, and there is beauty in understanding how they work. But I often find myself wondering whether understanding how is only the beginning of a far greater question. My schizophrenic mind has always wandered into places that others might never think to visit. It asks questions that cannot be measured and notices patterns that invite reflection. I've learned that not every thought should be accepted simply because it appears, but I have also learned not to dismiss every m...
an aspiring Poet, Thoughts from the Heart, Write on a number of Topics just found that I can write