designed to hide the simple path, to lose the listener in the very breath I take to speak. As I stayed, a shape without its frame, out of the tee, the essential mark removed, four like f, a stutter in the sequence, a missing piece, a puzzle left undone. A vowel stretched thin, pulled taut across the gap, a duration unexpectedly long, a moment clinging to the edge of now. The void opens, a silent space filled not with truth, but with sound, a humming drone, a noise that mimics meaning, but holds no substance underneath. And they, busy ones, shoulders hunched over their own intricate tasks, their ledgers full, their moments scheduled tight. So, no, I cannot contribute to the clarity, cannot offer the small brick needed to build the shared wall of understanding. No time for digging deeper, no help forthcoming from this tired tongue, no adding of weight, no solidifying of the airy concept. A lone voice in the echoing space, surrounded by the busy hum of contribution, I choose the opposite path, choosing the deep, necessary silence. The relief is small, a breath held then released, but what passes now is approval, not given, perhaps, but felt— a silent nod from the empty air. A sibilant secret, So, when comes? If yes, or no. A twisted string leading nowhere, a labyrinth of doubt, a question mark hanging in the air. With, or, in, maybe none. Ify, unreal thing, a dream half-remembered, a melody fading, a ghost of a chance. So, when comes? If yes, or no. A twisted string leading nowhere, a labyrinth of doubt, a question mark hanging in the air. With, or, in, maybe none. Ify, unreal thing, a dream half-remembered, a melody fading, a ghost of a chance. Not to tell, is… incomplete, a sentence unfinished, a story untold, a longing unaddressed, a part of me, If is not the what it and what it isn't now to say is not into say and two say couldn't to day and for me too say is if you would like it to love it or is it love it to like it and that was not explained as a individual came to say and was not because I was not in correspondence of any information of tushay and to what was say ying I am not I. A unraveling thread, a knotted string of words tumbled out, a cascade of maybes and almosts. Not to tell, is… incomplete, a sentence unfinished, a story untold, a longing unaddressed, a part of me, If is not the what it and what it isn't now to say is not into say and two say couldn't to day and for me too say is if you would like it to love it or is it love it to like it and that was not explained as a individual came to say and was not because I was not in correspondence of any information of tushay and to what was say ying I am not I. A unraveling thread, a knotted string of words tumbled out, a cascade of maybes and almosts. a hiss of air escaping through a crack, whispered on the indifferent wind, a confirmation strange, unsettling in its lack of explanation, an affirmation found in the very refusal to make things clear. The guess remains

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