in the noise, silence 

i got so busy,
the voices got quiet.

not just the ones in my head—
but the ones that used to echo
from the corners of my soul.

the ones that whispered dreams
when the world was still,
that called me by name
when i wasn’t yet buried
beneath deadlines
and digital dust.

i moved faster,
thinking motion meant progress,
but i never noticed
how the wind stopped singing
as i ran.

i chased clocks,
built towers of tasks,
and called it purpose—
but somewhere in the scaffolding,
i forgot how my own heartbeat used to sound.

i became fluent
in the language of urgency,
but illiterate
in the poetry of my own stillness.

the voices didn’t leave me—
they watched,
patient,
like old friends waiting in an empty room,
watching me pour my life
into things that will not remember me.

and now,
in the silence i mistook for peace,
i wonder:

was i ever busy…
or just afraid
of listening?