I do not cast the first stone into the water anymore.
To make a ripple requires a weight I no longer carry,
an intention I am too tired to hold.
Instead, I have become the cliff face.
When the world throws its noise at me,
I give it back,
perfectly intact,
yet entirely cold.
I return the cadence.
I match the expectation.
I am a flawless mirror constructed out of fatigue.
It takes no fuel to bounce a sound.
You just have to stand completely still,
letting other people’s urgency do all the heavy lifting.
You borrow their momentum just to make it through the hour.
They hear my reply and think I am full.
They do not realize they are listening to the acoustics of an empty room.
But a room must still be made of something to catch a voice at all.
I am hollowed out,
surviving only in the return,
resting in the quiet geometry of reflection.
Waiting for the silence to feel like mine again.