short fiction · 2026-10-08

Silence is a stone‑laden sky,

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

each pause a weight that presses upon the shoulders of thought, like ink spilled on parchment, faint yet unyielding.

I hear it in the gaps between words, in the hush after a laugh, in the quiet that gathers dust and later shapes memory.

It is a loom where unspoken threads tighten, pulling at the edges of what we think we know. When I speak, the silence loosens, like a curtain drawn back, revealing what was hidden behind it.

In the architecture of night, silence stands as tall as any monument, its silence a compass pointing toward the unseen. I carry that weight now—light as air, yet anchored in the marrow of my being.