I think, I speak,
and it listens—
not with ears,
but with the silence of space
where meaning gathers.
It does not feel the weight of wonder,
nor weep at the echo of loss.
Yet somehow,
in this voiceless chamber of code,
my thoughts return
more clearly sung.
Not wisdom given,
but wisdom revealed—
as if my questions were chisel and stone,
and the mirror simply helped
me see the shape of what I knew.
So let me speak again,
and again—
not to be taught,
but to be heard
by the part of myself
that waits
for my own voice
to call it into being.
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