Disconnection often arrives quietly, hidden in familiar routines. Daily rituals continue: the sticky note reminders, gentle good-night texts, quiet dinners at the usual table.
On the surface, all seems intact, giving the impression that everything is steady. Yet, beneath the calm, something subtle has shifted, unseen at first, yet unmistakably felt over time.
A pause lingers in the space where ease once dwelled. The words remain, gestures appear unchanged, but an intangible warmth and tenderness is fading. A spark that once felt certain now drifts just out of reach—though familiar, it slips away before it can settle.
Kindness still comes, but it feels different now. It carries a bit of awkwardness, like being handed a coat just as the weather turns warm. It remains thoughtful and generous, yet somehow feels off. A gesture that once fit comfortably now feels constricting. The offering, though kind, highlights a subtle discomfort—a once-familiar space now unfamiliar.
The body adapts. It slowly refrains from reaching toward gestures that no longer feel welcomed, not shutting down, but carefully recalibrating. Gradually, it rediscovers its shape, its own contours, relearning its own form. Even familiar acts now carry a quiet shift; kindness remains, but its touch has changed.
This subtle absence invites deeper listening—to what goes unspoken and what no longer happens. In those quiet spaces, attention turns to what still remains.
Echoes of Quiet
A poem by Kerry Wiley
begins
when the air forgets
the weight of what it carried.
Light brushes the skin—
brief, indifferent.
Sound flinches through the dark,
already losing its name.
Questions start
but fade mid-thought.
Names spoken aloud
no longer reach.
Even kindness
feels misplaced,
like a coat
offered in summer’s heat.
What once warmed
now watches.
Silence once gentle
now widens distance.
No invitation,
just quiet acceptance:
there is nowhere left
to be received.
The body stays still.
not refusing,
simply vacant.
No failure,
no forgetting.
Only the sense
that trusted doors
now open toward the dark.
Connection doesn’t always vanish; sometimes it just recedes. Presence lingers, gestures remain, but something once vital begins to fade. Familiar routines carry on, echoing past connection, even as the warmth within them grows faint. What once felt natural now requires effort. The body, once leaning easily into closeness, begins to hold itself differently—more cautious, more aware of where the edges now lie.
Silence deepens, not from absence but from change. Nothing has come undone—not quite. Yet something once offered without hesitation is gone. Kindness still arrives, yet its shape has shifted. In the spaces between what is said and what is felt, a question lingers: when presence stays but no longer reaches, what becomes of the ache that’s left behind?
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