I am not the thought
that knocks too loudly at dawn,
not the fear that repeats old stories
in the quiet corners of my mind.

I am not the restless whisper
that insists something is wrong.
I am not the echo of yesterday
trying to become today.

I am the pause
between one breath and the next,
the quiet witness
who watches the storm move across the sky.

Thoughts rise like waves,
urgent and persuasive,
yet always passing.
Feelings follow behind them,
sometimes warm, sometimes sharp,
each one asking to be believed.

Once, I mistook them for myself.
Now I see them arrive
and I see them leave.

Beneath it all
there is a still shore within me.
Nothing struggles there.
Nothing needs repair.

In that silent space
life unfolds as it is,
imperfect, fleeting, alive.

And I remain,
not as the noise,
not as the story,
but as the listening presence
in which it all appears.