A Slice of Silence
Not a story
It’s not morning.
Not evening.
Just — light.
And in it —
not you,
not me,
but what remained
after a sentence
that was never spoken.
Maybe there are two of us.
Or maybe
I’m alone,
and the shadow
just passing through.
Nothing happens.
But everything —
has already occurred.
Silence —
isn’t a pause.
It’s a kind of body.
You could stand beside it,
and watch
how it holds itself in the air.
You could slice it.
And at the edges —
not blood,
but light.
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© 2025 Peter Kahl. This post is released under a Creative Commons Attribution–NonCommercial–NoDerivatives 4.0 International Licence (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0).