the long quiet

for three weeks, the only sound on every frequency was a slow human breath. not loud. just steady. waiting for us to notice.

the breath belonged to someone who had practiced. you could hear the count of it. four in, six out, the rhythm of a person trying not to be afraid.

on day twenty-two it stopped mid-exhale. every radio on earth held the silence with it.

the silence became a place. people began going there in their sleep.

every clock in my apartment was three seconds slow. then four. then nine.