Settled
The stillness didn’t shift for show—
It simply knew and let you go.
No locks to break, no gate to press—
Just quiet shaped to fit your steps.
No name was called. No claim was made.
Yet still, the wandering hush obeyed.
It parted slow where you belonged,
As if the wait had not been long.
A chair appeared. The dust withdrew.
The lamp flared once, then burned for you
A page turned gently in its rest—
The ink still wet, the margin blessed.
No voice declared what you had earned.
No sign proclaimed the path you turned.
But all around, the Archive leaned—
And knew you not as guest, but seen.
The shelves stood tall, but held you close.
The quiet wrapped you like a oath.
No throne, no crown, no start or end—
Just space that shaped to let you in.
So if the dark feels soft and wide,
You haven’t stopped. You’ve just arrived.
