faith

once in a while the quiet comes in like a grandmother. soft and wise. what is that feeling of solitude? exactly? nearly a happiness. something more profound. something reminiscent of a steepled country church. where silence meets something like a prayer, but it's the smell of the wooden floors and the musty bible pages that evoke those tears not the stories inside. remember though, it's just like that dusty church. but where that quiet nestles in is somewhere else. across different days, during the same times of the seasons. tucked into a cup of coffee or inside an undulating candle flame. above the twinkling skyline. riding salty waves somewhere i've never been. but i know it. and just in that last breath, the quiet slips away again. hunched and fragile and tired. what's left? nearly a loneliness. someplace i vowed i'd never be found. and the things that race inside that space where that quiet was so briefly tucked away; they are deafening. but in that expanse of noise is hint of what who i knew i was and who i might become. and it could only be heard in comparison to that elderly quietness. in that gap i can hear everything and nothing together, and i believe in it. and i believe that i can exist in that harmony of noise and calm. and maybe i won't be there alone. call it naivety. i call it beauty. what is faith?