The Interval

We spend so much of life studying what broke.

The relationship.

The dream.

The future we thought we'd have.

We replay the fracture...

until we forget to notice what it created.

The space after certainty.

Before clarity.

Where nothing looks finished.

From the outside,

it appears empty.

Yet some of life's deepest work

has always happened there.

Seeds split beneath the soil

long before anyone calls it growth.

Winter trees look barren

while quietly preparing for spring.

Perhaps we have mistaken the interval

for the absence of life.

Maybe it has always been

the place where life begins again.

Not every empty space

is waiting to be filled.

Some are waiting

to become us.