When two voices meet, something more can arise.
The heart softens gently, stripped of disguise.
We speak not to win, but to understand.
A bridge takes shape, unplanned by the hand.
In the hush between words, meaning breathes anew.
It’s there love enters—only passing through.
I saw your eyes searching for a place to rest.
I gave them silence, and you felt blessed.
No shield, no mask, just a fragile tone.
Your story unfolded, and I felt my own.
The pain you carried was mine in part.
I listened not with ears, but the heart.
You spoke of loss that time couldn’t mend.
I met you there—listener, not friend.
And in that stillness, the world grew wide.
We both disappeared in the tide.
Words were few, yet something survived.
The space between us softly revived.
A sigh, a nod—the language of care.
A sacred knowing lingered there.
Sometimes the cure is not to speak.
But to stay when another feels weak.
You don’t have to fix what’s torn apart.
Just offer presence, soul to heart.
Such moments make the unseen heard.
A truth far deeper than any word.
Each voice we honor shapes our own.
Connection seeds the love we’ve grown.
So when you listen, do it whole.
Let empathy guide, let patience console.
For every answer begins with care.
Every healing breath needs air.
The art of hearing is seldom learned.
But when mastered, the heart is turned.
I write these words as a mirror call.
To remind the listener within us all.

…

DCG