A Real Moment

I like the quiet parts of days,

the minutes no one names.

A cup left warm on the table,

dust turning slowly in light.

The world feels loud about its answers,

but never sure of its questions.

People talk like they're racing clocks,

as if time might notice and chase them.

I've learned more from standing still,

than trying to win anything.

Somewhere between leaving and staying,

there's a breath that belongs to no one.

I try to live there when I can,

not important, not forgotten, just real.