Almost Everything

Almost Everything

The weight remains,
tight in the chest,
loud in the quiet
between what I hoped for
and what has not yet come.

It gathers like dusk
in the corners of the day,
settling slow as frost
on the edge of a fading breath.
Some mornings whisper rise,
others do not speak at all.

I live between waiting and walking,
between belief and its fading echo.
I send prayers into silence
and listen for anything that stirs.

If the air shifted,
just slightly,
the light might slip through the seams.
And perhaps I’d say,
it was always beautiful.

So is it not already?
Or am I only standing
on the shadowed side
of something still becoming?

Perhaps this ache is not sorrow,
but the nearness of something unnamed.
Perhaps the flame is not failing,
only learning how to wait.

Still I remain,
a spark the dark has not yet claimed.